Hill  Ollf 


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TO  WIN  THE  LOVE 
HE  SOUGHT 


BY 


E.   PHILLIPS   OPPENHEIM 

AUTHOR   OF 

'THE  YELLOW   HOUSE,"   "A   DAUGHTER  OF  ASTRCA/ 
"THE   NEW  TENANT,"    ETC. 


DONALD    W.    NEWTON 

156  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
C.  H.  DOSCHER  &  CO. 


THE  TROW  PEK88,  NEW  YOEK 


Stack 
Annex 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  FACE 

I.    THE    MEETING i 

II.     "SHE  Is  A  SINGER" n 

III.  "BETTER  THOU  WERT  DEAD  BEFORE  ME"     20 

IV.  "DOWN  INTO  HELL  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE 

SOUGHT" 29 

V.     TREACHERY 41 

VI.  "THE  BITTER  SPRINGS  OF  ANGER  AND  FEAR"     57 

VII.  COMFORT!  COMFORT  SCORNED  OF  DEVILS     .     64 

VIII.  "DEATH  IN  THE  FACE,  AND  MURDER  IN  THE 

HEART" 72 

IX.  'An!  WHY  SHOULD  LOVE,'  ETC.    ...     89 

X.     A  MARIONI'S  OATH 96 

XI.  A  MEETING  OF  THE  ORDER    ....   106 

XII.  "A  FIGURE  FROM  A  WORLD  GONE  BY"         .   122 

XIII.  BETWEEN  LIFE  AND  DEATH     ....   135 

XIV.  AN  EVERLASTING  HATE 140 

XV.  THE  COUNT'S  SECOND  VISITOR      .       .       .   147 

XVI.  A  NEW  MEMBER  FOR  THE  ORDER    .       .       .   151 

XVII.  THE  RETURN  TO  REASON       ....  167 

XVIII.  "I  HAVE  A  FEAR — A  FOOLISH  FEAR"  .       .   174 

XIX.    THE  NEW  GOVERNESS 181 

XX.  LORD  LUMLEY  AND  MARGHARITA        .       .   195 

XXI.  A  LAND  THAT  Is  LONELIER  THAN  RUIN      .   206 

XXII.  LORD  LUMLEY'S  CONFESSION        .        .        .211 

XXIII.  MARGHARITA'S  DIARY — A  CORRESPONDENCE  220 

XXIV.  "WHITE  HYACINTHS" 230 

XXV.  AMONG  THE  PINE  TREES         .       .       .       .241 

XXVI.     STORMS 251 

XXVII.  A  LIFE  IN  THE  BALANCE       ....   260 

XXVIII.     ONE  DAY'S  RESPITE 272 

XXIX.  THERE  Is  DEATH  BEFORE  Us         ...   280 

XXX.  THE  DAWN  OF  A  NEW  LIFE     ....   291 

XXXI.     AN  OLD  MAN'S  HATE 297 

XXXII.  THE  KEEPING  OF  THE  OATH    ....  306 


TO   WIN   THE    LOVE 
HE   SOUGHT 


CHAPTER   I 

.  THE   MEETING 

THE  soft  mantle  of  a  southern  twilight  had 
fallen  upon  land  and  sea,  and  the  heart  of  the 
Palermitans  was  glad.  Out  they  trooped  into 
the  scented  darkness,  strolling  along  the  prom- 
enade in  little  groups,  listening  to  the  band, 
drinking  in  the  cool  night  breeze  from  the  sea, 
singling  out  friends,  laughing,  talking,  flirting, 
and  passing  on.  A  long  line  of  carriages  was 
drawn  up  along  the  Marina,  and  many  of  the 
old  Sicilian  aristocracy  were  mingling  with  the 
crowd. 

Palermo  is  like  a  night  blossom  which  opens 
only  with  the  first  breath  of  evening.  By  day, 
it  is  parched  and  sleepy  and  stupid;  by  night, 
it  is  alive  and  joyous — the  place  itself  becomes 
an  al  fresco  paradise.  It  is  night  which  draws 
the  sweetness  from  the  flowers.  The  air  is 
heavy  with  the  faint  perfume  of  hyacinths  and 


2  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

wild  violets,  and  a  breeze  stirring  among  the 
orange  groves  wafts  a  delicious  aromatic  odor 
across  the  bay.  Long  rays  of  light  from  the 
little  semi-circle  of  white-fronted  villas  flash 
across  the  slumbering  waters  of  the  harbor. 
Out  of  door  restaurants  are  crowded;  all  is 
light  and  life  and  bustle;  every  one  is  glad  to 
have  seen  the  last  of  the  broiling  sun;  every 
one  is  happy  and  light-hearted.  The  inborn 
gaiety  of  the  south  asserts  itself.  Women  in 
graceful  toilettes  pass  backward  and  forward 
along  the  broad  parade,  making  the  air  sweeter 
still  with  the  perfume  of  their  floating  drap- 
eries, and  the  light  revelry  of  their  musical 
laughter. 

Tis  a  motley  throng,  and  there  is  no  respect- 
ing of  persons.  Townspeople,  a  sprinkling  of 
the  old  nobility,  and  a  few  curious  visitors  fol- 
low in  each  other's  footsteps.  By  day,  those 
who  can,  sleep;  by  night,  they  awake  and  don 
their  daintiest  clothing,  and  Palermo  is  gay. 

The  terrace  of  the  Hotel  de  T  Europe  extends 
to  the  very  verge  of  the  promenade,  and,  night 
by  night,  is  crowded  with  men  of  all  conditions 
and  nations,  who  sit  before  little  marble  tables 
facing  the  sea,  smoking  and  drinking  coffee 
and  liqueurs.  At  one  of  these,  so  close  to  the 
promenade  that  the  dresses  of  the  passers-by 
almost  touched  them,  two  men  were  seated. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT  3 

One  was  of  an  order  and  race  easily  to  be 
distinguished  in  any  quarter  of  the  globe — an 
English  country  gentleman.  There  was  no 
possibility  of  any  mistake  about  him.  Saxon 
was  written  in  his  face,  in  the  cut  of  his 
clothes ;  even  his  attitude  betrayed  it.  He  was 
tall  and  handsome,  and  young  enough  not  to 
have  outlived  enthusiasm,  for  he  was  looking 
out  upon  the  gay  scene  with  keen  interest.  His 
features  were  well  cut,  his  eyes  were  blue,  and 
his  bronze  face  was  smooth,  save  for  a  slight, 
well-formed  moustache.  He  wore  a  brown 
tweed  coat  and  waistcoat,  flannel  trousers,  a 
straw  hat  tilted  over  his  eyes,  and  he  was 
smoking  a  briar  pipe,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  his  feet  resting  upon  the  stone 
work. 

His  companion  was  of  a  different  type.  He 
was  of  medium  height  only,  and  thin ;  his  com- 
plexion was  sallow,  and  his  eyes  and  hair  were 
black.  His  features,  though  not  altogether 
pleasing,  were  regular,  and  almost  classical 
in  outline.  His  clothes  displayed  him  to  the 
worst  possible  advantage.  He  wore  black 
trousers  and  a  dark  frock  coat,  tightly  fitting, 
which  accentuated  the  narrowness  of  his 
shoulders.  The  only  relief  to  the  sombreness 
of  his  attire  consisted  in  a  white  flower  care- 
fully fastened  in  his  button-hole.  He,  too, 


4  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

had  been  smoking,  but  his  cigarette  had  gone 
out,  and  he  was  watching  the  stream  of  people 
pass  and  repass,  with  a  fixed,  searching  gaze. 
Though  young,  his  face  was  worn  and  trou- 
bled. He  had  none  of  the  sang  froid  or  the 
pleasure-seeking  carelessness  of  the  English- 
man who  sat  by  his  side.  His  whole  appear- 
ance was  that  of  a  man  with  a  steadfast  defi- 
nite purpose  in  life — of  a  man  who  had  tasted 
early  the  sweets  and  bitters  of  existence,  joy 
and  sorrow,  passion  and  grief. 

They  were  only  acquaintances,  these  two 
men;  chance  had  brought  them  together  for 
some  evil  purpose  of  her  own.  When  the 
Englishman,  who,  unlike  most  of  his  compa- 
triots, was  a  young  man  of  a  sociable  turn  of 
mind,  and  detested  solitude,  had  come  across 
him  a  few  minutes  ago  in  the  long,  low  dining- 
room  of  the  hotel,  and  had  proposed  their 
sharing  a  table  and  their  coffee  outside,  the 
other  would  have  refused  if  he  could  have 
done  so  with  courtesy.  As  that  had  been 
impossible,  he  had  yielded,  however,  and  they 
had  become  for  a  while  companions,  albeit 
silent  ones. 

The  Englishman  was  in  far  too  good  a  hu- 
mor with  himself,  the  place,  and  his  surround- 
ings, to  hold  his  peace  for  long.  He  exchanged 
his  pipe  for  a  Havana,  and  commenced  to  talk. 


5 

"  I  say,  this  is  an  awfully  jolly  place !  No 
idea  it  was  anything  like  it.  I'm  glad  I  came !  " 

His  vis-a-vis  bowed  in  a  courteous  but 
abstracted  manner.  He  had  no  wish  to  en- 
courage the  conversation,  so  he  made  no  reply. 
But  the  Englishman,  having  made  up  his  mind 
to  talk,  was  not  easily  repulsed. 

"  You  don't  live  here,  do  you?  "  he  asked. 

The  Sicilian  shook  his  head. 

"  No !  It  happens  that  I  was  born  here, 
but  my  home  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
island.  It  is  many  years  since  I  visited  it." 

He  had  made  a  longer  speech  than  he 
had  intended,  and  he  paid  the  penalty  for  it. 
The  Englishman  drew  his  chair  a  little  nearer, 
and  continued  with  an  air  of  increasing  fa- 
miliarity. 

"  It's  very  stupid  of  me,  but,  do  you  know, 
I've  quite  forgotten  your  name  for  the  moment. 
I  remember  my  cousin,  Cis  Davenport,  intro- 
ducing us  at  Rome,  and  I  knew  you  again 
directly  I  saw  you.  But  I'm  hanged  if  I  can 
think  of  your  name !  I  always  had  a  precious 
bad  memory." 

The  Sicilian  looked  none  too  well  pleased 
at  the  implied  request.  He  glanced  uneasily 
around,  and  then  bent  forward,  leaning  his 
elbow  upon  the  table  so  that  the  heads  of  the 
two  men  almost  touched.  When  they  had  come 


6  TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

into  the  place,  he  had  carefully  chosen  a  posi- 
tion as  far  away  from  the  flaming  lights  as 
possible,  but  they  were  still  within  hearing  of 
many  of  the  chattering  groups  around. 

"  I  do  not  object  to  telling  you  my  name," 
he  said  in  a  low  tone,  sunk  almost  to  a  whisper, 
"  but  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  make  a  request 
which  may  appear  somewhat  singular  to  you. 
I  do  not  wish  you  to  address  me  by  it  here,  or 
to  mention  it.  To  be  frank,  there  are  reasons 
for  wishing  my  presence  in  this  neighborhood 
not  to  be  known.  You  are  a  gentleman,  and 
you  will  understand." 

"  Oh,  perfectly,"  the  Englishman  answered 
him,  in  a  tone  of  blank  bewilderment. 

What  did  it  all  mean  ?  Had  he  run  off  with 
some  one  else's  wife,  or  was  he  in  debt?  One 
of  the  two  seemed  to  be  the  natural  conclusion. 
Anyhow,  he  did  not  want  to  know  the  fellow's 
name.  He  had  only  asked  out  of  politeness, 
and  if  he  were  in  any  sort  of  scrape,  perhaps 
it  would  be  better  not  to  know  it. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  the  Englishman  ex- 
plained, in  the  midst  of  the  other's  hesitating 
pause,  "  don't  tell  it  me !  I  can  call  you  any- 
thing you  like  for  this  evening.  I  daresay  we 
I  sha'n't  meet  afterwards,  and  if  you  want  to 
keep  it  dark  about  your  being  here,  why,  then, 
I  sha'n't  be  able  to  give  you  away — by  accident, 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  7 

of  course.  Come,  I'll  call  you  anything  you 
like.  Choose  your  name  for  the  night  1 " 

The  Sicilian  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"  You  have  been  told  my  name  when  I  had 
the  honor  of  being  presented  to  you  at  Rome," 
he  said,  "and  at  any  chance  mention  you 
might  recall  it.  I  prefer  to  tell  it  to  you,  and 
rely  upon  your  honor." 

"  As  you  like." 

"  My  name  is  Leonardo  di  Marioni ! " 

"  By  Jove !  of  course  it  is !  "  the  Englishman 
exclaimed.  "  I  should  have  thought  of  it  in  a 
moment.  I  remember  Davenport  made  me 
laugh  when  he  introduced  us.  His  pronuncia- 
tion's so  queer,  you  know,  and  he's  only  been 
at  Rome  about  a  month,  so  he  hasn't  had  time 
to  pick  it  up.  Good  old  Cis !  he  was  always  a 
dunce !  I  suppose  his  uncle  got  him  in  at  the 
Embassy." 

"  No  doubt,"  the  Sicilian  answered  politely. 
"  I  have  only  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your 
cousin  once  or  twice,  and  I  know  him  but 
slightly.  You  will  not  forget  my  request,  and 
if  you  have  occasion  to  address  me,  perhaps 
you  will  be  so  good  as  to  do  so  by  the  name  of 
1  Cortegi.'  It  is  the  name  by  which  I  am 
known  here,  and  to  which  I  have  some  right." 

The  Englishman  nodded. 

"  All  right.    I'll  remember.    By  the  bye,"  he 


8 

went  on,  "  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your 
sister  in  Naples,  I  believe.  She  is  engaged  to 
marry  Martin  Briscoe,  isn't  she?  " 

The  Sicilian's  face  darkened  into  a  scowl; 
the  thin  lips  were  tightly  compressed,  and  his 
eyes  flashed  with  angry  light. 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  it,"  he  answered 
haughtily. 

The  other  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  Fact,  I  assure  you,"  he  continued  suavely, 
not  noticing  the  Sicilian's  change  of  counte- 
nance. "  Martin  told  me  about  it  himself.  I 
should  have  thought  that  you  would  have 
known  all  about  it.  Briscoe  isn't  half  a  bad 
fellow,"  he  went  on  meditatively.  "  Of  course, 
it  isn't  altogether  pleasant  to  have  a  father 
who  makes  pickles,  and  who  won't  leave  off, 
although  he  must  have  made  a  fine  pot  of 
money.  But  Martin  stands  it  very  well.  He 
isn't  half  a  bad  fellow." 

The  Sicilian  rose  from  his  chair  with  a  sud- 
den impetuous  movement.  The  moonlight  fell 
upon  his  white,  furious  face  and  black  eyes, 
ablaze  with  passion.  He  was  in  a  towering 
rage. 

"  I  repeat,  sir,  that  I  know  of  no  such  en- 
gagement ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  neces- 
sarily subdued,  but  none  the  less  fierce  and 
angry.  "  I  do  not  understand  your  nation, 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT  9 

which  admits  into  the  society  of  nobles  such 
men.  It  is  infamous !  In  Sicily  we  do  not  do 
these  things.  For  such  a  man  to  think  of  an 
alliance  with  a  Marioni  is  more  than  presump- 
tion— it  is  blasphemy !  " 

"  That's  all  very  well,  but  I  only  know  what 
I  was  told,"  the  Englishman  answered  bluntly. 

"  It's  no  affair  of  mine.  I'm  sorry  I  men- 
tioned it." 

The  Sicilian  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment; 
a  shade  of  sadness  stole  into  his  marble  face, 
and  his  tone,  when  he  spoke  again,  was  more 
mournful  than  angry. 

"  It  may  be  as  you  say,  Signor.  I  have  been 
traveling,  and  for  many  months  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  my  sister.  I  have  heard  such  ru- 
mors as  you  allude  to,  but  I  have  not  heeded 
them.  The  affair  is  between  us  two.  I  will 
say  no  more.  Only  this.  While  I  am  alive, 
that  marriage  will  not  take  place !  " 

He  resumed  his  seat,  and  conversation  lan- 
guished between  the  two  men.  The  English- 
man sat  with  knitted  eyebrows,  watching  the 
people  pass  backward  and  forward,  with  an 
absent,  puzzled  look  in  his  blue  eyes.  He  had 
an  indistinct  recollection  of  having  been  told 
something  interesting  about  this  man  at  the 
time  of  their  introduction.  He  was  notorious 
for  something.  What  was  it?  His  memory 


10     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

seemed  utterly  to  fail  him.  He  could  only  re- 
member that,  for  some  reason  or  other,  Leon- 
ardo di  Marioni  had  been  considered  a  very 
interesting  figure  in  Roman  society  during  his 
brief  stay  at  the  capital,  and  that  he  had  van- 
ished from  it  quite  suddenly. 

The  Sicilian,  too,  was  watching  the  people 
pass  to  and  fro,  but  more  with  the  intent 
gaze  of  one  who  awaits  an  expected  arrival 
than  with  the  idle  regard  of  his  companion. 
Once  the  latter  caught  his  anxious,  expectant 
look,  and  at  the  same  time  noticed  that  the 
slim  fingers  which  held  his  cigarette  were 
trembling  nervously. 

"  Evidently  looking  out  for  some  one,"  he 
thought.  "  Seems  a  queer  fish  anyhow.  Is  it 
a  man  or  a  woman,  I  wonder  ?  " 

Soon  he  knew. 


CHAPTER   II 
"SHE  is  A  SINGER" 

THERE  was  a  brief  lull  in  the  stream  of 
promenaders.  The  Englishman  turned  round 
with  a  yawn,  and  ordered  another  cup  of 
coffee.  From  his  altered  position  he  had  a  full 
view  of  the  Sicilian's  face,  and  became  sud- 
denly aware  of  an  extraordinary  change  in  it. 
The  restlessness  was  gone;  the  watching 
seemed  to  be  at  an  end.  The  fire  of  a  deep 
passion  was  blazing  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  the 
light  of  a  great  wistful  joy  shone  in  his  face. 
The  Englishman,  almost  involuntarily,  turned 
in  his  chair,  and  glanced  round  to  see  what  had 
wrought  the  change. 

He  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful woman  he  had  ever  seen.  A  flood  of  silver 
moonlight  lay  upon  the  Marina,  glancing  away 
across  the  dark  blue  waters  of  the  bay,  and  the 
soft  dazzling  light  gently  touched  her  hair,  and 
gleamed  in  her  dark,  sweet  eyes.  She  was 
tall,  and  clad  in  white  flowing  draperies  cling- 
ing softly  around  her  slim,  girlish  figure,  and 
giving  to  her  appearance  an  inexpressible 


12  TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

daintiness,  as  though  they  were  indeed  em- 
blematic of  the  spotless  purity  of  that  fair 
young  being.  Was  it  the  chastened  light,  or 
was  there  indeed  something  spiritual,  some- 
thing more  than  humanly  beautiful  in  the  deli- 
cate oval  face — perfect  in  its  outline,  perfect  in 
its  faint  coloring  and  stately  poise?  She  was 
walking  slowly,  her  every  movement  full  of  a 
distinctive  and  deliberate  grace,  and  her  head 
a  little  upturned,  as  though  her  thoughts  were 
far  away  among  the  softly  burning  stars, 
rather  than  concerned  with  the  fashionable 
and  picturesque  crowd  which  thronged  around 
her.  A  remark  from  her  companion,  a  girl 
of  somewhat  slighter  stature  and  darker  com- 
plexion, caused  her  to  lower  her  eyes,  and  in 
doing  so  they  fell  upon  the  eager,  impassioned 
gaze  of  the  young  Englishman. 

Afterwards  he  was  never  ashamed  to  con- 
fess that  that  moment  brought  with  it  a  pecu- 
liar lingering  sweetness  which  never  alto- 
gether died  away.  It  was  the  birth  of  a  new 
sensation,  the  most  poignant  of  all  sensations, 
although  philosophers  deny  and  materialists 
scoff  at  it.  After  all,  there  is  something  more 
than  refined  sensuality  in  love  which  has  so 
sudden  a  dawning;  there  is  a  certain  innate 
spirituality  which  sublimates  and  purifies  it,  so 
that  the  flame  burns  softly  but  brightly  still 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     13 

through  joy  and  grief,  mocking  at  satiety,  sur- 
viving the  sorrow  of  gray  hairs,  triumphing 
over  the  desolation  of  old  age,  and  sweetening 
the  passage  to  the  grave.  He  was  a  head- 
strong, chivalrous  young  man,  passionate, 
loyal,  and  faithful,  among  all  his  faults.  That 
first  love  of  his  never  grew  cold,  never  les- 
sened. It  lasted  forever.  For  some  men  it  is 
not  possible  to  give  the  better  part  of  them- 
selves up  to  the  worship  of  a  pure  woman ;  self- 
ishness forbids  it.  But  this  young  English- 
man who  sat  there  spellbound,  absorbed  in  the 
consciousness  of  this  new  and  sweet  emotion, 
was  not  one  of  these. 

Suddenly  she  withdrew  her  eyes  with  a 
faint,  conscious  blush,  and  as  she  did  so  she 
saw  for  the  first  time  the  Sicilian.  Her  whole 
aspect  swiftly  changed.  A  terrified  shudder 
swept  across  her  features,  and  her  lips  parted 
with  fear.  She  looked  into  a  face  but  a  mo- 
ment before,  at  her  first  appearance,  all  aglow 
with  passionate  love,  now  black  with  sup- 
pressed anger  and  fierce  jealousy.  His  eyes 
fascinated  her,  but  it  was  the  fascination  of 
dread;  and,  indeed,  his  appearance  was  not 
pleasant  to  look  upon.  His  thin  form  seemed 
dilated  with  nervous  passion,  and  his  eyes  were 
on  fire.  Suddenly  he  conquered  himself,  and, 
with  the  swiftness  of  lightning  across  the  wa- 


14     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

ter,  the  fierceness  died  out  of  his  face,  leaving 
it  pale  almost  to  ghastliness  in  the  moonlight. 
He  half  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  lifting  his  hat, 
bowed  low. 

She  answered  his  salutation  timidly,  and 
touched  her  companion  on  the  arm.  She, 
too,  started  as  she  saw  that  dark,  thin  figure 
gazing  so  steadfastly  upon  them,  and  her  first 
impulse  seemed  to  be  to  approach  him.  She 
stopped  short  on  the  promenade,  and  though 
there  was  a  certain  amount  of  apprehension  in 
her  dark  eyes,  there  was  also  some  pleasure, 
and  her  lips  were  parted  in  a  half-welcoming, 
half-inviting  smile.  But  he  did  not  make  any 
advance  toward  her;  on  the  contrary,  with  a 
slight  and  almost  imperceptible  gesture,  he 
motioned  them  to  proceed.  With  a  little  wave 
of  the  hand,  she  obeyed  him,  and  he  resumed 
his  seat,  drawing  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  no 
longer  watching  the  stream  of  promenaders. 

The  Englishman,  absorbed  in  his  own  sud- 
den passion,  had  seen  nothing  out  of  the  com- 
mon in  the  brief  interchange  of  glances  be- 
tween the  trio.  All  that  he  noticed  was  that 
his  companion  had  saluted  the  taller  of  the  two 
girls,  and  that  she  had  acknowledged  the  salu- 
tation. It  was  quite  enough  for  him. 

He  leaned  over  the  low  palisade,  watching 
her  until  she  disappeared  among  the  crowd, 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     15 

scarcely  daring  to  hope  that  she  might  look 
back,  and  yet  determined  to  lose  no  oppor- 
tunity of  a  farewell  glance  should  she  do  so. 
When  she  was  finally  out  of  sight,  he  drew  a 
long  breath  and  turned  toward  his  companion. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  fear  that  I  do  not  quite  understand  you," 
he  said  quietly,  although  his  voice  and  limbs 
were  trembling  with  passion ;  "  to  whom  do 
you  allude  ?  " 

"  The  girl  in  white  who  passed  just  now. 
You  knew  her !  Tell  me  her  name !  " 

"Why  should  I?" 

"  I  wish  to  know  it." 

The  Sicilian  lit  his  cigarette.  He  was 
growing  calmer,  but  the  fingers  which  held 
the  match  were  still  shaking. 

"  Possibly.  But  that  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  tell  it  to  you.  That  lady  is  a  friend  of 
mine,  certainly,  but  it  is  not  the  custom  in  my 
country,  however  it  may  be  in  yours,  to  bandy 
a  lady's  name  about  a  public  place." 

"  But  I  am  not  asking  out  of  curiosity," 
the  other  persisted,  "  nor  am  I  a  stranger  to 
you." 

"  What  is  your  motive,  if  it  be  not  curios- 
ity ?  "  the  Sicilian  asked,  with  a  dark  shade 
stealing  into  his  face.  "  You  had  better  be 
careful,  Signor;  there  is  danger  at  hand  for 


16  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

any  man  who  so  much  as  directs  an  impertinent 
glance  at  either  of  those  ladies." 

The  Englishman  was  far  too  deeply  in 
earnest  to  be  angry. 

"  You  won't  tell  me,  then?  "  he  said  simply. 

"  I  will  not." 

"Certain?" 

"  Quite  certain." 

"  Very  good.    I  shall  find  out." 

The  Sicilian  laid  his  hand  upon  the  other's 
arm.  His  black  eyes  were  flashing  angrily, 
and  his  tone  was  threatening. 

"  Signer !  a  word  of  warning !  I  constitute 
myself  the  protector  of  those  ladies.  I  have  a 
very  good  right  to  do  so.  Any  idle  and  public 
inquiries  concerning  them,  or  any  attempt  to 
obtrude  an  acquaintance  upon  them,  I  shall — 
punish !  You  understand !  " 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered.  "  You  have  only 
to  prove  the  offense  and  the  right  of  protector- 
ship, and  I  shall  be  at  your  service.  You 
probably  know  little  concerning  the  men  of  my 
country.  Let  me  tell  you  that  we  are  not  in 
the  habit  of  forcing  ourselves  upon  unknown 
ladies,  nor  in  our  respect  for  them  are  we  sec- 
ond to  the  men  of  any  nation  in  the  world.  I 
wish  you  good-evening,  Signor." 

He  walked  away  with  his  head  in  the  air,  an 
object  of  much  curiosity  to  the  many  scattered 


TO  WIN   THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  17 

little  groups  of  dusky  foreigners  and  Jews 
through  which  he  passed.  At  the  door  of 
the  hotel  he  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then, 
instead  of  joining  the  stream  of  promenaders, 
he  entered  and  slowly  ascended  the  broad 
marble  staircase  toward  his  room.  Just  as  he 
reached  the  first  landing,  however,  he  felt  a 
light  touch  on  his  arm,  and  a  guttural  voice 
in  his  ear.  He  turned  sharply  round,  and 
found  before  him  one  of  the  waiters — the  one 
who  had  served  him  with  his  coffee  outside. 

"  Well !  what  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  man  answered  in  a  low  tone,  with  his 
eyes  glancing  suspiciously  around  all  the  time. 

"  The  Signor  was  inquiring  the  name  of  the 
lady  who  passed  by,"  he  said  apologetically. 
"  The  Signor  spoke  loudly,  and  I  could  not 
choose  but  hear." 

The  Englishman  came  to  a  sudden  stand- 
still, and  looked  down  into  the  ferretlike  face 
and  black  eyes  of  the  man  who  had  followed 
him. 

"Well?" 

"  I  can  tell  it  to  the  Signor." 

"  Look  sharp  then !  " 

"The  Signor  is  generous,"  he  remarked, 
with  a  cunning  look.  "  I  have  risked  my  place 
by  leaving  the  terrace  without  permission  to 
bring  him  this  news,  and  I  am  poor — very, 


1 8  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

very  poor ! "  he  added,  with  a  sudden  drop  in 
his  voice  which  resembled  a  whine. 

The  Englishman  threw  a  piece  of  gold  into 
the  brown,  greedy  palm. 

"  Tell  it  me,  and  be  off,"  he  said  shortly. 

The  waiter — half  Greek,  half  native,  and  a 
thorough  rascal — bowed  low,  and  his  beadlike 
eyes  glistened. 

"  The  Signer  is  noble.  The  beautiful  lady's 
name  is  Signorina  Adrienne  Cartuccio." 

"The  singer?" 

"  The  same,  Signor.    The  divine  singer." 

"Ah!" 

The  Englishman  turned  toward  the  wide, 
open  window,  and  gazed  steadfastly  at  the 
place  in  the  crowd  where  she  had  vanished. 

"  She  sings  to-night,  does  she  not  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Truly,  Signor.  Palermo  is  full  of  visitors 
from  all  parts  of  the  island  on  purpose  to  hear 
her/' 

"At  what  time?" 

"  At  nine  o'clock,  Signor,  in  the  concert  hall. 
If  the  Signor  desires  to  hear  her  he  should  go 
early,  for  to-night  is  the  only  chance.  She 
sings  but  once,  and  it  is  for  the  poor.  They 
say  that  she  has  come  to  the  Villa  Fiolesse  on 
the  hill,  to  be  away  from  the  world,  to  rest." 

The  Englishman  descended  the  stairs  and 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  19 

went  slowly  back  to  his  seat.  He  had  only  one 
thought.  In  a  few  hours'  time  he  would  see 
her  again.  It  would  be  Paradise ! 

He  reached  his  table  and  sat  down.  The 
seat  opposite  to  him  was  empty.  The  Sicilian 
had  gone. 


CHAPTER   III 
"BETTER  THOU  WERT  DEAD  BEFORE  ME" 

ON  the  brow  of  the  Hill  Fiolesse,  at  a  sharp 
angle  in  the  white  dusty  road,  a  man  and  wom- 
an stood  talking.  On  one  side  of  them  was  a 
grove  of  flowering  magnolias,  and  on  the  other 
a  high,  closely-trimmed  hedge  skirted  the 
grounds  of  the  Villa  Fiolesse.  There  was  not 
another  soul  in  sight,  but,  as  though  the  place 
were  not  secure  enough  from  interruption,  the 
girl,  every  now  and  then,  glanced  half  fear- 
fully around  her,  and  more  than  once  paused 
in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  to  listen.  At  last 
her  fears  escaped  from  her  lips. 

"  Leonardo,  I  wish  that  you  had  not  come !  " 
she  cried.  "What  is  the  good  of  it?  I  shall 
have  no  rest  till  I  know  that  you  are  beyond 
the  sea  again." 

His  face  darkened,  and  his  tone  was  gloomy 
and  sad. 

"  Beyond  the  seas,  while  my  heart  is  chained 
forever  here,  Margharita ! "  he  answered. 
"  Ah !  I  have  tried,  and  I  know  the  bitterness 
of  it.  You  cannot  tell  what  exile  has  been  like 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     21 

to  me.  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Tell  me, 
child!  I  watched  you  climb  this  hill  together. 
You  looked  back  and  saw  me,  and  waited.  Did 
she  see  me,  too?  Quick!  answer  me!  I  will 
know!  She  saw  me  on  the  Marina.  Did  she 
know  that  I  was  following  her  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  saw  you.  She  said  nothing 
when  I  lingered  behind.  It  was  as  though  she 
knew." 

The  Sicilian  clasped  his  hands,  and  looked 
away  over  the  sea.  The  moonlight  fell  upon 
his  weary  pallid  face,  and  glistened  in  his 
dark  sad  eyes.  He  spoke  more  to  himself  than 
her. 

"  She  knew !  And  yet  she  would  not  wait  to 
speak  a  single  word  to  me!  Ah!  it  is  cruel! 
If  only  she  could  know  how  night  by  night,  in 
those  far-distant  countries,  I  have  lain  on  the 
mountain  tops,  and  wandered  through  the 
valleys,  thinking  and  dreaming  of  her — always 
of  her !  It  has  been  an  evil  time  with  me,  my 
sister,  a  time  of  dreary  days  and  sleepless 
nights.  And  this  the  end  of  it !  My  heart  is 
faint  and  sick  with  longing,  and  I  hastened 
here  before  it  should  break.  I  must  see  her, 
Margharita !  Let  us  hasten  on  to  the  villa !  " 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm.  Her  eyes 
were  soft  with  coming  tears. 

"  Leonardo,  listen,"  she  cried.     "  It  is  best 


22  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

to  tell  you.  She  will  not  see  you.  She  is 
quite  firm.  She  is  angry  with  you  for  com- 
ing." 

"  Angry  with  me !  Angry  because  I  love 
her,  so  that  I  risk  my  life  just  to  see  her,  to 
hear  her  speak!  Ah!  but  that  is  cruel!  Let 
me  go  in  and  speak  to  her !  Let  me  plead  with 
her  in  my  own  fashion ! " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Leonardo,  the  truth  is  best,"  she  said  soft- 
ly. "  Adrienne  does  not  love  you.  She  is  quite 
determined  not  to  see  you  again.  Even  I, 
pleading  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  could  not  per- 
suade her.  She  has  locked  herself  in  her  room 
while  she  prepares  for  the  concert.  You  could 
not  see  her  unless  you  forced  yourself  upon 
her,  and  that  would  not  do." 

"  No,  I  would  not  do  that,"  he  answered 
wearily.  "  Margharita,  there  is  a  question ;  I 
must  ask  it,  though  the  answer  kill  me.  Is 
there — any  one  else  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  There  is  no  one  else,  Leonardo,  yet.  But 
what  matter  is  that,  since  it  cannot  be  you? 
Some  day  it  will  come.  All  that  a  sister  could 
do,  I  have  done.  She  pities  you,  Leonardo, 
but  she  does  not  love  you.  She  never  will ! " 

He  moved  from  the  open  space,  where  the 
moonlight  fell  upon  his  marble  face,  to  the 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     23 

shadow  of  the  magnolia  grove.  He  stood  there 
quite  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  spoke  in 
a  strained,  hard  voice,  which  she  scarcely 
recognized. 

"  Margharita,  you  have  done  your  best  for 
me.  You  do  not  know  what  a  man's  love  is,  or 
you  would  not  wonder  that  I  suffer  so  much. 
Yet,  if  it  must  be,  it  must.  I  will  give  her  up. 
I  will  go  back  to  my  exile  and  forget  her.  Yet 
since  I  am  here,  grant  me  a  last  favor.  Let 
me  see  her  to  say  farewell." 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  distress. 

"  Leonardo,  how  can  I  ?  She  has  given  or- 
ders that  under  no  circumstances  whatever  are 
you  to  be  admitted." 

"  But  to  say  farewell !  " 

"  She  would  not  believe  it.  It  has  been  so 
before,  Leonardo,  and  then  you  have  been  pas- 
sionate, and  pleaded  your  cause  all  over  again. 
I  have  promised  that  I  will  never  ask  her  to 
see  you  again." 

"  Then  let  me  see  her  without  asking.  You 
can  find  an  opportunity,  if  you  will.  For  my 
sake,  Margharita ! " 

She  laid  her  troubled,  tear-stained  face  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  It  is  wrong  of  me,  Leonardo.  Yet,  if  you 
will  promise  me  to  say  farewell,  and  farewell 
only " 


24     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"  Be  it  so !    I  promise ! " 

"  Well,  then,  each  night  we  have  walked 
past  the  Marina,  and  home  by  the  mountain 
road.  It  is  a  long  way  round  and  it  is 
lonely;  but  we  have  Pietro  with  us,  and  on 
these  moonlight  nights  the  view  is  like  fairy- 
land." 

"  And  will  you  come  that  way  home  to-night, 
after  the  concert  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  good." 

"  You  will  remember  your  promise,  Leo- 
nardo," she  said  anxiously. 

"  I  will  remember,"  he  answered.  "  And, 
Margharita,  since  this  is  to  be  our  farewell,  I 
Have  something  to  say  to  you  also,  before  I 
pass  away  from  your  life  into  my  exile.  In 
Rome  I  was  told  a  thing  which  for  a  moment 
troubled  me.  I  say  for  a  moment,  because  it 
was  for  a  moment  only  that  I  believed  it.  The 
man  who  told  me  was  my  friend,  or  he  would 
have  answered  to  me  for  it,  as  for  an  insult. 
Shall  I  tell  you,  Margharita,  what  this  thing 
was?" 

Her  face  was  troubled,  and  her  eyes  were 
downcast.  The  Sicilian  watched  her  confusion 
with  darkening  brows.  Since  she  made  no 
answer,  he  continued : 

"  They  told  me,  Margharita,  that  you,   a 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  25 

Marioni,  daughter  of  one  of  Europe's  grandest 
families,  daughter  of  a  race  from  which 
princes  have  sprung,  and  with  whom,  in  the 
old  days,  kings  have  sought  alliance,  they  told 
me  that  you  were  betrothed  to  some  low  Amer- 
ican, a  trader,  a  man  without  family  or  honor. 
They  told  me  this,  Margharita,  and  I  answered 
them  that  they  lied.  Forgive  me  for  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt  which  crossed  my  mind, 
sister.  Forgive  me  that  I  beg  for  a  denial 
from  your  own  lips." 

She  lifted  her  head.  She  was  pale,  but  her 
dark  eyes  had  an  indignant  sparkle  in  them. 

"  They  did  lie,  Leonardo,"  she  answered 
firmly,  "  but  not  in  the  fact  itself.  It  is  true 
that  I  am  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  Betrothed !  Without  my  sanction !  Mar- 
gharita, how  is  that?  Am  I  not  your  guar- 
dian?" 

"  Yes,  but,  Leonardo,  you  have  been  away, 
and  no  one  knew  when  you  would  return,  or 
where  you  were." 

"  It  is  enough.  Tell  me  of  the  man  to  whom 
you  are  betrothed.  I  would  know  his  name 
and  family." 

"  Leonardo,  his  name  is  Martin  Briscoe,  and 
his  family — he  has  no  family  that  you  would 
know  of.  It  is  true  that  he  is  an  American, 
but  he  is  a  gentleman." 


26     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"  An  American !  It  is  perhaps  also  true  that 
he  is  a  trader  ?  " 

His  coolness  alarmed  her.  She  looked  into 
his  face  and  trembled. 

"  I  do  not  know ;  it  may  be  so.  His  fa- 
ther  " 

The  Sicilian  interrupted  her.  His  face  was 
marble  white,  but  his  eyes  were  afire. 

"  His  father !  Spare  me  the  pedigree !  I 
know  it!  Margharita,  stand  there,  where  the 
moonlight  touches  your  face.  Let  me  look  at 
you.  Is  it  you,  a  daughter  of  the  Marionis, 
who  can  speak  so  calmly  of  bringing  this  dis- 
grace upon  our  name?  You,  my  little  sister 
Margharita,  the  proud-spirited  girl  who  used 
to  share  in  my  ambitions,  and  to  whom  our 
name  was  as  dear  as  to  myself  ?  " 

"  Leonardo,  spare  me ! " 

"  Spare  you?  Yes,  when  you  have  told  me 
that  this  is  some  nightmare,  some  phantasm — 
a  lie !  Spare  you !  Yes,  when  you  tell  me  that 
this  presumptuous  upstart  has  gone  back  to  his 
upstart  country." 

She  dropped  her  hands  from  before  her  face, 
and  stood  before  him,  pale  and  desperate. 

"  Leonardo,  I  cannot  give  him  up,  I  love 
him!" 

"And  do  you  owe  me  no  love?  Do  you 
owe  no  duty  to  the  grandeur  of  our  race? 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT  27 

Noblesse  oblige,  Margharita !  We  bear  a  great 
name,  and  with  the  honor  which  it  brings,  it 
brings  also  responsibilities.  I  do  not  believe 
that  you  can  truly  love  this  man;  but  if  you 
do,  your  duty  is  still  plain.  You  must  crush 
your  love  as  you  would  a  poisonous  weed  under 
your  feet.  You  must  sacrifice  yourself  for  the 
honor  of  our  name." 

"  Leonardo,  you  do  not  understand.  I  love 
him,  and  cannot  give  him  up.  My  word  is 
given ;  I  cannot  break  it." 

He  drew  a  step  further  away  from  her,  and 
his  voice  became  harder. 

"  You  must  choose,  then,  between  him  and 
me;  between  your  honor  and  your  unworthy 
lover.  There  is  no  other  course.  As  my 
sister,  you  are  the  dearest  thing  on  earth  to 
me;  as  that  man's  wife,  you  will  be  an  utter 
stranger.  I  will  never  willingly  look  upon  your 
face,  nor  hear  you  speak.  I  will  write  your 
name  out  of  my  heart,  and  my  curse  shall  fol- 
low you  over  the  seas  to  your  new  home,  and 
ring  in  your  ears  by  day  and  by  night.  I  will 
never  forgive;  I  swear  it! " 

He  ceased  and  bent  forward,  as  though  for 
her  answer.  She  did  not  speak.  The  deep 
silence  was  broken  only  by  the  far-off  murmur 
of  the  sea,  and  the  sound  of  faint  sobbing  from 
between  her  clasped  hands.  The  sound  of  her 


28  TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

distress  softened  him  for  a  moment;  he  hesi- 
tated, and  then  spoke  again  more  quietly. 

"  Margharita,  ponder  this  over.  Be  brave, 
and  remember  that  you  are  a  Marioni.  Till 
to-morrow,  farewell ! " 


CHAPTER   IV 

"  DOWN    INTO    HELL    TO    WIN    THE    LOVE    HE 
SOUGHT  " 

IT  was  two  hours  later,  and  the  Marina  was 
almost  deserted.  The  streets  and  squares,  too, 
of  the  southern  city  were  silent  and  empty.  It 
seemed  as  though  all  Palermo  had  gathered 
together  in  that  sprawling,  whitewashed  build- 
ing, called  in  courtesy  a  concert  hall.  Flashes 
of  light  from  its  many  windows  gleamed  upon 
the  pavements  below,  and  from  the  upper  one 
the  heads  of  a  solid  phalanx  of  men  and 
women,  wedged  in  together,  threw  quaint 
shadows  across  the  narrow  street.  The  trades- 
people, aristocracy,  and  visitors  of  the  place 
had  flocked  together  to  the  concert,  frantically 
desirous  of  hearing  the  great  singer  who, 
although  so  young,  had  been  made  welcome 
at  every  court  in  Europe.  It  was  an  honor  to 
their  island  city  that  she  should  have  visited 
it  at  all;  much  more  that  she  should  choose 
to  sing  there;  and  the  quick  Palermitans, 
fired  with  enthusiasm,  rushed  to  welcome  her. 
The  heavy  slumberous  air  was  still  vibrating 
with  the  shout  which  had  greeted  her  first 

39 


30  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

appearance,  and  the  echoes  from  across  the 
scarcely  rippled  surface  of  the  bay  were  linger- 
ing among  the  rocky  hills  on  the  other  side 
of  the  harbor. 

The  Sicilian  heard  it  as  he  threaded  his 
way  toward  the  poorer  part  of  the  city,  and 
a  dull  red  glow  burned  for  a  moment  in  his 
sallow  cheeks.  It  maddened  him  that  he,  too, 
was  not  there  to  join  in  it,  to  feast  his  eyes 
upon  her,  and  listen  to  the  matchless  music  of 
her  voice.  Was  she  not  more  to  him  than  to 
any  of  them?  So  long  he  had  carried  her 
image  in  his  heart  that  a  curious  sense  of  pos- 
session had  crept  into  all  his  thoughts  of  her. 
He  was  frantically  jealous,  heedless  of  the  fact 
that  he  had  no  right  to  be.  He  would  have  felt 
toward  the  man  on  whom  Adrienne  Cartuccio 
had  smiled,  as  toward  a  robber.  She  was  his, 
and  his  only  she  should  be.  Years  of  faithful 
homage  and  unabated  longing  had  made  her 
so.  His  was  a  narrow  but  a  strong  nature, 
and  the  desire  of  her  had  become  the  main- 
spring of  his  life.  His  she  should  surely  be! 
No  other  man  had  the  right  to  lift  his  eyes  to 
her.  As  he  hurried  through  those  silent 
streets,  he  forgot  her  many  kindly  but  firm 
repulses.  Jesuitical  in  his  love,  any  means  by 
which  he  might  win  her  seemed  fair  and  hon- 
orable. And  to-night,  though  he  was  stooping 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     31 

to  treachery  to  possess  himself  of  this  long 
coveted  jewel,  he  felt  no  shame ;  only  his  heart 
beat  strong  and  fast  with  passionate  hope. 
The  moment  had  come  at  length  for  him  to 
play  his  last  card,  and  at  the  very  prospect  of 
success  heaven  itself  seemed  open  before  his 
eyes. 

He  had  been  threading  his  way  swiftly,  and 
with  the  air  of  one  well  acquainted  with  the 
neighborhood,  through  a  network  of  narrow 
streets  and  courts,  filthy  and  poverty  stricken. 
At  last  he  came  to  a  sudden  pause  before  a 
flight  of  steps  leading  down  to  the  door  of  a 
small  wine  shop,  which  was  little  more  than 
a  cellar. 

From  the  street  one  could  see  into  the  bar, 
and  the  Sicilian  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
peered  downward.  Behind  the  counter,  a 
stout,  swarthy-looking  native  woman  was  ex- 
changing coarse  badinage  with  a  man  in  a 
looce  jersey  and  baggy  trousers.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  one  else  in  the  place,  save 
another  man  who  sat  in  the  darkest  corner, 
with  his  head  buried  upon  his  arms. 

The  Sicilian  only  hesitated  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  pulled  his  soft  hat  lower  over  his 
eyes,  and  lighting  a  cigarette,  to  dispel  as  far 
as  possible  the  rank  stale  odor  of  the  place, 
stepped  down  and  entered  the  wine  shop. 


32  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

Evidently  he  was  not  known  there.  The 
woman  stared  curiously  at  him  as  she  passed 
the  glass  of  curagao  for  which  he  asked,  and 
the  man  scowled.  He  took  no  notice  of  either, 
but,  with  his  glass  in  his  hand,  made  his  way 
across  the  sawdust-covered  floor  to  the  most 
remote  of  the  small  tables. 

A  few  feet  only  from  him  was  the  man  who 
slept,  or  who  seemed  to  sleep,  and  all  around 
quaint  shadows  of  the  tall  buildings  outside 
stealing  in  through  the  open  window  almost 
shut  the  two  men  off  from  the  rest  of  the  wine 
shop  where  the  gas  jets  hung.  The  Sicilian 
smoked  on  in  silence;  his  neighbor  com- 
menced to  move.  Presently  the  woman  and 
her  admirer  resumed  their  talk,  with  their 
heads  a  little  closer  together  and  their  voices 
lowered.  They  were  absorbed  in  themselves 
and  their  coarse  flirtation.  The  man  sipped 
more  liquor,  and  the  woman  filled  his  glass 
with  no  sparing  hand.  The  strong  brandy 
ran  through  his  veins  quicker  and  quicker. 
He  tried  to  embrace  the  woman,  and  failed, 
owing  to  the  barrier  between  them.  He  tried 
again,  and  this  time  partially  succeeded.  Then 
he  tried  to  clamber  over  the  counter,  but 
missed  his  footing  and  fell  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor,  where  he  lay,  to  all  appearance,  too 
drunk  to  get  up — helpless  and  stupefied. 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  33 

The  woman  peered  over  at  him  with  a  sneer 
on  her  face.  Then  she  arranged  the  bottles  in 
their  places,  and  called  out  a  noisy  greeting 
to  the  Sicilian  who  was  smoking  silently 
among  the  shadows  with  only  the  red  tip  of 
his  cigarette  visible  in  the  darkness.  He  made 
no  reply.  She  yawned,  and  looked  down- 
ward at  the  drunken  man  once  more.  There 
was  no  sign  of  life  in  his  coarse  face.  He  was 
wrapped  deep  in  a  drunken  sleep,  and  he 
still  had  money  in  his  pockets.  Ah,  well!  It 
should  be  hers  when  these  two  strangers  had 
gone. 

She  turned  to  a  little  recess  behind  the  bar, 
and,  approaching  the  wall,  looked  at  herself 
in  a  cracked  looking-glass  which  hung  there. 
Something  in  her  hair  needed  rearrangement, 
and  she  remained  there  straightening  it  with 
her  fingers.  From  where  she  stood  she  was 
within  hearing  distance  if  any  one  descended 
the  steps  and  entered  the  wine  shop,  so  she 
did  not  hurry.  The  contemplation  of  her 
coarse  features  and  small  black  eyes  seemed 
to  inspire  her  with  a  strange  pleasure.  She 
remained  at  the  glass,  turning  her  head  from 
side  to  side  with  a  curiously  grotesque  satisfac- 
tion. Then  one  of  her  large  glass  earrings  was 
dull.  She  took  it  out,  and  rubbed  it  vigor- 
ously on  her  skirt,  humming  a  popular  tune  to 


34  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

herself  the  while.  The  whole  thing  took  time ; 
but  what  matter?  There  was  no  one  in  the 
vault  save  two  drunken  men,  and  another  who 
chose  to  sit  in  the  darkness  without  making 
any  response  to  her  advances.  If  a  fresh  cus- 
tomer had  descended  the  greasy  stone  steps, 
and  pushed  open  the  rickety  swing  door,  he 
would  have  found  her  in  her  place,  ready  with 
the  usual  coarse  greeting  or  jest,  should  he 
chance  to  be  a  neighbor  or  an  acquaintance. 
Meanwhile,  she  was  happy  where  she  was. 

In  the  wine  shop  itself  things  were  not 
exactly  as  she  supposed.  No  sooner  had  her 
back  been  turned,  than  the  man  near  whom 
the  Sicilian  had  seated  himself  slowly  raised 
his  head,  and  looked  around.  Assured  of  her 
departure,  and  after  a  moment's  contempla- 
tion of  the  man  who  lay  upon  the  floor  to  all 
appearance  so  hopelessly  drunk,  he  turned 
toward  the  Sicilian. 

"  My  orders,  Signor,"  he  whispered.  "  It  is 
to  be  to-night?" 

"  Yes." 

"  The  Signorina  will  not  listen  to  reason, 
then?" 

In  the  darkness  the  Sicilian  felt  the  deep 
flush  which  stole  into  his  olive  cheeks.  He 
was  not  there  without  an  effort.  In  all  his 
deeds  and  thoughts  he  had  always  reckoned 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     35 

himself  as  others  had  reckoned  him,  an  honor- 
able man.  His  presence  in  this  place,  and  the 
means  he  was  stooping-  to  use,  filled  him  with 
the  most  intense  humiliation.  Only  one  thing 
was  stronger — his  passionate  love  for  Adri- 
enne  Cartuccio. 

"  Do  not  breathe  the  Signorina's  name,"  he 
muttered.  "  Receive  your  instructions,  but 
make  no  comments." 

"  Command,  Signor ;  I  am  ready,"  was  the 
whispered  answer. 

"  First ;  have  you  succeeded  as  you  ex- 
pected ?  The  carriage  and  mules  and  men  ?  " 

"  In  ten  minutes  I  could  have  them  all  here, 
Signor.  The  task  was  not  easy,  but  it  is  ac- 
complished. They  are  at  the  Signor's  disposal. 
All  that  remains  is  for  you  to  give  the  orders." 

The  Sicilian  was  perfectly  silent  for  a 
moment.  The  darkness  hid  his  face — hid  the 
shame  which  for  a  moment  lowered  it,  the 
shame  which  an  honorable  gentleman  feels 
when  he  stoops  to  dishonor.  It  passed  away 
before  the  stronger  feeling,  and  when  he  spoke 
his  tone  was  firm  though  low. 

"  It  is  well.  Listen,  Pietro.  The  attempt  is 
to  be  made  to-night,  in  three  hours'  time. 
You  will  be  prepared?  The  notice  is  suf- 
ficient?" 

"  More  than  sufficient,  Signor.    The  sooner 


36     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

the  better.  The  mouths  of  my  men  are  closed 
with  gold,  and  they  are  carefully  chosen;  but, 
one  and  all,  they  love  the  wine,  and  wine,  in  its 
way,  is  as  powerful  as  gold.  See  that  animal 
yonder,  Signer.  My  men  love  the  drink  as 
well  as  he,  and  before  he  reached  that  state  he 
might  have  chattered  away  a  dozen  secrets." 

The  Sicilian  watched  the  man  who  was 
lying  on  the  sawdust-strewn  floor.  Some- 
thing in  his  breathing  attracted  him,  and  he 
leaned  forward. 

"  Is  he  asleep,  do  you  think  ?  "  he  whispered. 
"  I  thought  I  saw  his  eyes  open." 

Pietro  rose,  and  crawling  like  a  cat,  drew 
close  to  the  drunken  man.  He  passed  his  hand 
lightly  over  him,  and  listened  to  his  breathing. 
Finally  he  crept  back  to  his  seat. 

"  That  is  no  spy ! "  he  whispered ;  "  he  is 
only  a  common  fisherman,  and  he  is  stupefied 
with  drink.  I  watched  him  when  he  came 
in.  Proceed,  Signor.  Let  me  know  your 
plans." 

The  Sicilian  continued,  speaking  as  rapidly 
as  possible.  He  had  conspired  before,  but 
honorably,  and  with  men  of  his  own  rank. 
But  here — in  this  low  den,  with  such  a  com- 
panion— it  made  his  heart  sick.  He  was  only 
anxious  to  get  away  as  speedily  as  possible. 

"  To-night  the  Signorina  sings  at  the  Town 


TO  WIN  THE   LOVE  HE  SOUGHT  37 

Hall.  She  leaves  there  at  ten  o'clock,  on  foot, 
accompanied  only  by  another  lady  and  a  man- 
servant who  is  in  my  pay.  She  will  dismiss 
her  carriage,  and  walk.  The  road  to  the  Villa 
Fiolesse,  you  know.  They  will  pursue  it  past 
the  turn,  thinking  to  follow  a  winding  path 
which  leads  from  it  into  the  grounds  of  the 
villa  about  half  a  mile  further  on.  The  road 
is  quite  deserted  there,  and  sheltered  by  pine 
groves.  At  the  entrance  to  the  first  grove  the 
cart  and  mules  must  be  in  waiting — also  your 
men.  There  will  be  no  resistance;  but,  above 
everything,  Pietro,  remember  this — no  dis- 
courtesy or  roughness  to  either  of  the  ladies. 
Let  them  be  treated  firmly,  but  with  the  utmost 
respect.  Remember  that  one  will  be  my  wife, 
and  the  other  is  my  sister ! " 

"  But  you  yourself,  Signer !  Shall  you  not 
be  there?" 

"  No !  If  all  goes  well,  I  shall  follow,  and 
join  you  at  Ajalito.  At  that  place  more  mules 
must  be  purchased,  as  we  shall  take  the 
mountain  road  to  the  Castle  of  Marioni,  and 
the  cart  will  be  useless.  Is  all  clear  to  you, 
Pietro?" 

"  It  is  clear,  Signer !  " 

"  It  may  be  that  you  will  require  more 
money.  Here  are  a  hundred  francs.  Use 
what  you  will." 


38  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"  I  shall  use  all  of  them,  Signer.  To  be  well 
served  requires  good  pay.  The  Signor  shall 
be  well  served." 

"  Spend  it  as  you  will,  and  come  to  me  after- 
wards for  your  own  reward.  I  will  go  now  to 
make  my  own  preparations.  Be  faithful  this 
night,  Pietro,  and  your  fortune  is  secured.  I 
am  not  one  to  forget  a  service ! " 

"  The  Signor  is  a  prince,"  Pietro  answered, 
bowing.  "  See,  the  moon  is  behind  a  cloud. 
It  is  a  propitious  moment  to  leave  this  place 
without  being  observed.  I,  too,  must  go,  but 
outside  our  ways  lie  apart." 

"  Come,  then,"  the  Sicilian  answered,  rising 
quickly.  "  But  one  last  caution,  Pietro.  See 
that  your  men  understand  perfectly  that,  for 
any  rudeness  or  ill-usage  to  either  of  the  Sig- 
norinas>  they  will  answer  to  me  with  their 
lives.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  not  join  you  be- 
fore daybreak.  If  so,  remember  that  the  man 
who  offends  those  whom  you  guard,  by  so 
much  as  a  look,  shall  die.  His  corpse  shall 
whiten  on  the  mountains  for  carrion  crows  to 
peck  at!" 

"  It  is  well,  Signor.    There  is  no  fear." 

They  crept  out  of  the  door,  opening  and 
closing  it  noiselessly,  ascended  into  the  street, 
and  separated.  The  sound  of  their  footsteps 
died  away  upon  the  rude  stone  pavements. 


TO  WIN  THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  39 

For  a  minute  or  two  unbroken  silence  reigned 
in  the  wine  shop. 

"Diabolo!" 

The  exclamation  came  from  the  man  who 
had  fallen  while  endeavoring  to  embrace  the 
hostess,  and  who  since,  to  all  appearance,  had 
been  in  a  drunken  sleep.  A  very  remarkable 
change  had  come  over  him.  He  was  sitting 
bolt  upright  on  the  floor,  shaking  the  sawdust 
from  his  hair,  and  his  dark  eyes  were  no  longer 
vacant,  but  bright  and  full  of  excitement.  He 
peered  cautiously  over  the  counter.  The 
woman  who  had  repelled  his  advances  was 
still  loitering  near  the  looking-glass.  Then  he 
stole  softly  on  to  his  feet,  and  walking  on  tip- 
toe, and  without  the  slightest  difficulty,  left  the 
place.  Outside  he  simulated  once  more  the 
walk  of  a  drunken  man,  and  staggered  down 
the  street  and  out  of  sight. 

Presently  the  hostess  of  the  place,  having 
arranged  her  head-dress  to  her  own  satisfac- 
tion, came  out  behind  the  counter.  She  leaned 
over  and  looked  for  her  drunken  admirer. 
After  all,  he  had  money  in  his  pocket,  and  he 
was  not  such  a  bad  fellow.  She  would  take 
him  into  her  little  room  behind,  and  let  him 
sleep  for  a  while  more  comfortably.  But — but 
where  was  he  ?  He  was  not  there.  She  turned 
the  light  higher  and  looked  around.  There 


40     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

was  no  one  in  the  room  at  all.  Two  hopelessly 
drunken  men  and  the  stranger  had  left  the 
place  without  making  the  slightest  sound,  or 
without  calling  for  more  drink.  It  was  incredi- 
ble. But  it  was  true.  The  wine-shop  keeper  had 
never  been  so  surprised  in  her  life.  Not  only 
was  she  surprised,  but  she  was  frightened. 
The  thing  was  beyond  belief.  The  sweat  broke 
out  upon  her  forehead,  and  she  crossed  herself. 
The  devil  himself  must  have  come  and  fetched 
them  away,  and,  if  so,  why  should  he  not  fetch 
her.  She  was  wicked  enough.  What  a  horri- 
ble thought. 

Half  a  dozen  men,  the  crew  of  a  fishing  boat, 
suddenly  entered  the  court,  filling  the  air  with 
their  voices,  and  descended  the  steps.  She 
came  to  herself  while  serving  them,  and  com- 
menced to  forget  her  fright.  But  she  did  not 
mention  that  little  occurrence,  and  the  very 
thought  of  a  drunken  man  for  days  afterwards 
made  her  shudder. 


CHAPTER   V 

TREACHERY 

IT  was  almost  midnight,  and  Palermo  lay 
sleeping  in  the  moonlight.  The  concert  was 
over,  and  the  people  who  had  shouted  them- 
selves hoarse  with  enthusiasm  had  dispersed 
at  last  to  their  homes.  The  last  of  the  broad- 
wheeled,  heavily-built  carriages  had  rolled 
away  through  the  white  streets  of  the  town. 
One  by  one  the  promenaders  had  left  the 
Marina,  and  all  sound  had  died  away.  There 
was  a  faint,  sighing  breeze  in  the  orange 
groves  around  the  bay,  but  scarcely  a  ripple 
upon  the  water.  One  man  alone  lingered 
drinking  in  the  sweetness  of  the  night.  The 
Englishman  sat  on  the  last  seat  of  the  Marina, 
in  the  shadow  of  a  cluster  of  orange  trees. 

He  had  seen  her  again — nay,  more,  he  had 
heard  her  sing — this  girl-nightingale,  who  had 
taken  the  world  by  storm.  Chance  had  fa- 
vored him,  insomuch  that  he  had  been  able  to 
secure  almost  a  front  seat  in  the  concert  room, 
and  the  wonderful  music  of  her  voice  rang  still 
in  his  ears.  He  had  stolen  out  here  to  try  and 

41 


42     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

think  it  all  over,  and  to  calm  the  passion  which 
had  suddenly  leaped  up  within  him.  It  was 
quite  a  new  experience  through  which  he  was 
passing;  he  scarcely  knew  himself.  He  was 
happy  and  miserable,  sanguine  and  despond- 
ent, all  in  a  moment.  One  question  was  always 
before  him — one  end,  one  aim.  How  was  he  to 
know  her  ?  How  could  he  endure  to  live  here, 
seeing  her  day  by  day  for  a  brief  while,  with- 
out making  her  acquaintance?  There  was 
nothing  to  be  hoped  for  from  the  Sicilian,  who 
would  not  even  tell  him  her  name.  Possibly, 
though,  she  would  visit,  or  be  visited  by,  some 
of  the  nobility  of  the  place.  This  was  almost 
his  only  hope.  He  had  letters  to  most  of  them, 
and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  present  them  all 
on  the  morrow. 

He  sat  there  dreaming,  with  a  burned-out 
cigar  between  his  teeth,  and  his  eyes  idly  wan- 
dering over  the  blue  Mediterranean.  Sud- 
denly the  stillness  was  broken  by  the  sound  of 
a  soft  gliding  footstep  close  at  hand.  He  had 
heard  no  one  approach,  yet  when  he  looked  up 
quickly  he  found  he  was  no  longer  alone.  A 
man  in  the  garb  of  a  native  peasant  was  stand- 
ing by  his  side. 

Naturally  the  Englishman  was  a  little  sur- 
prised. He  half  rose  from  his  seat,  and  then 
resumed  it  as  he  recognized  the  dark,  swarthy 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     43 

face  and  black  eyes  of  the  waiter  who  had  told 
him  Adrienne  Cartuccio's  name. 

"  Hullo !  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he 
demanded. 

"  I  was  in  search  of  the  Signer ! "  was  the 
hasty  response.  "  For  an  hour  I  have  sought 
him  everywhere,'  and  now  it  is  by  chance  that 
I  am  successful." 

The  Englishman  looked  at  him  with  suspi- 
cion. This  change  of  dress  was  doubtless  for 
the  purpose  of  disguise.  What  was  the  mean- 
ing of  it  ? 

"  Well,  and  now  you've  found  me,  what  do 
you  want  ?  "  he  asked,  watching  him  closely. 

"  I  will  tell  the  Signor.  Is  it  not  that  he  has 
an  admiration  for  Mademoiselle  Cartuccio,  the 
singer  ?  Well,  she  is  in  danger !  It  is  for  the 
Signor  to  rescue  her/' 

The  Englishman  sprang  up  with  sparkling 
eyes,  and  pitched  his  dead  cigar  into  the  sea. 

"  In  danger ! "  he  repeated  breathlessly. 
"  Quick !  Tell  me  where !  " 

The  man  pointed  inland. 

"  Do  you  see  that  belt  of  white  road  there, 
leading  up  into  the  hills  ?  " 

"Yes;  what  about  it?" 

"  Have  you  noticed  anything  pass  along  it  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  heavy  cart  or  carriage  and 
some  mules,  I  think,  went  by  half  an  hour  ago." 


44     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

The  native  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  It  was  an  hour,  Signor,  but  no  matter ! 
Step  back  with  me  into  the  shadow  of  those 
olive  trees.  That  is  better.  Now  we  cannot 
be  seen,  and  I  will  explain." 

The  Englishman  beat  the  ground  with  his 
foot. 

"  Explanations  be  damned !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Where  is  Mademoiselle  Cartuccio  ?  Quick !  " 

The  man  held  up  his  hands,  and  spoke  more 
rapidly. 

''  This  evening  I  heard  by  accident  of  a  plot 
to  carry  off  Signor ina  Cartuccio  by  a  rejected 
suitor.  I  hasten  to  inform  the  police,  but  on 
the  way  I  pause.  I  say  to  myself,  what  shall 
I  get  for  my  pains,  and  for  the  risk  I  run? 
Nothing!  Then  I  think  of  the  Signor.  I 
watched  his  face  when  the  Signorina  pass  by, 
and  I  say  to  myself  he  has  the  passion  of  her. 
If  I  show  him  the  way  to  save  her  he  will  be 
generous.  He  will  win  the  lady,  and  he  will 
reward  poor  Andrea." 

"  That's  all  right.  Tell  me  what  to  do,  and 
I  will  give  you  fifty  pounds — anything  you 
like.  Don't  waste  time.  Speak  up !  " 

The  man's  eyes  shone  with  cupidity.  He 
went  on  rapidly: 

"The  Signor  is  a  prince.  Listen!  Along 
yonder  road,  before  many  minutes  have  passed, 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     45 

will  come  the  Signorina  Cartuccio  with  her 
friend,  attended  only  by  an  aged  servant. 
Men  are  waiting  for  them  in  the  grove  of 
orange  trees  above  the  Villa  Fiolesse.  Their 
orders  are  to  carry  off  the  two  ladies  to  the 
other  side  of  the  island,  where  a  place  has 
been  prepared  for  them.  For  an  hour  I  have 
searched  for  the  Signor,  that  he  might  procure 
aid,  and  so  encounter  these  brigands,  but  in 
vain.  I  was  in  despair." 

"  I  want  no  help !  How  many  of  the  black- 
guards are  there  ?  " 

"Four,  Signor!" 

"Natives?" 

"  Yes,  Signor." 

"  And  cowards,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  man  smiled. 

"  They  have  not  much  bravery,  Signor.  I 
know  the  men." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  anyone  else  here  for  the 
world,"  the  Englishman  said,  shaking  his  fist. 

"  Does  the  Signor  want  a  knife  ?  "  asked  the 
man,  thrusting  his  hand  into  his  inner  pocket. 

"  Not  I.  We  don't  understand  that  sort  of 
thing  in  our  country,  my  brave  Andrea.  Fisti- 
cuffs will  settle  this  little  matter,  you'll  see ! " 

The  man  looked  up  admiringly  at  the 
Englishman's  commanding  figure  and  broad 
shoulders. 


46  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"  I  think  they  will  run  away  from  the  Signer 
when  they  see  him,"  he  whispered.  "  But  let 
the  Signer  remember  this:  if  one  of  them 
thrusts  his  hand  inside  his  coat,  so,  do  not  wait 
one  moment — knock  him  down  or  get  out  of 
his  way.  He  will  have  the  knife,  and  they 
know  how  to  use  it,  these  brigands." 

"  Tell  me  the  name  of  their  leader — I  mean 
the  fellow  who  is  trying  to  carry  off  ihe 
Signorina.  Will  he  be  there  ?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"  I  cannot  tell  the  Signer  his  name.  I  dare 
not.  I  was  once  in  his  service,  and  he  has 
powers — hush !  " 

The  two  men  held  their  breath,  keeping  well 
in  the  shadow  of  the  orange  grove.  They 
had  reached  the  road,  and  in  the  distance 
they  could  hear  the  sound  of  approaching 
voices. 

"  I  leave  you  now,  Signor,  whispered  his 
companion  to  the  Englishman.  "  I  dare  not 
be  seen.  To-morrow,  at  the  hotel." 

He  glided  noiselessly  away.  The  English- 
man scarcely  heard  him,  he  was  listening  in- 
tently. Light  footsteps  were  coming  along  the 
winding  road  toward  him,  and  soon  a  laugh- 
ing voice  rang  out  upon  the  night  air. 

"  My  dear  Adrienne,  don't  you  think  we 
were  a  little  foolish  to  walk  home  so  late  as 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT  47 

this  ?  See,  there  is  not  a  soul  upon  the  prom- 
enade." 

"  Tant  mieuxl "  was  the  light  answer.  "  Is 
it  not  to  escape  from  them  all,  that  we  came 
this  way?  The  stillness  is  exquisite,  and  the 
night  breeze  from  the  sea,  after  that  hot  room, 
is  divine.  What  a  view  we  shall  have  of  the 
bay  when  we  get  to  the  top  of  the  hill." 

"  They  say  that  this  place  is  infested  with 
robbers,  and  it  is  terribly  lonely,"  was  the 
somewhat  fearful  answer.  '  Why  would  you 
not  let  poor  Leonardo  come  with  us  ?  " 

"  Because  I  did  not  want  Leonardo,  cherie. 
Leonardo  is  very  good,  but  he  wearies  me  by 
persisting  to  dwell  upon  a  forbidden  subject; 
and  as  for  protection — well,  I  fancy  Giovanni 
is  sufficient." 

They  were  passing  him  now  so  close  that  he 
felt  impelled  to  hold  his  breath.  He  had  only 
a  momentary  glimpse  of  them,  but  it  was  suf- 
ficient. A  few  yards  behind,  a  sullen-looking 
servant  was  trudging  along,  looking  carefully 
around.  In  the  white  moonlight  their  faces, 
even  their  expressions,  were  perfectly  visible 
to  him;  Adrienne's  rapt  and  absorbed  by  the 
still  restful  beauty  of  the  dreaming  night,  and 
indifferent  to  all  fear;  her  companion,  whose 
dark  eyes  were  glancing  somewhat  anxiously 
around  her,  and  Giovanni's,  whose  furtive 


48     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

looks,  more  expectant  than  apprehensive, 
marked  him  out  to  the  Englishman  as  an  ac- 
complice in  whatever  devilry  was  afoot.  Un- 
seen himself,  he  watched  them  pass,  and  lis- 
tened to  their  voices  growing  fainter  and 
fainter  in  the  distance.  They  were  out  of  sight 
and  out  of  hearing. 

He  was  preparing  to  follow  them,  when  sud- 
denly another  sound  broke  the  stillness.  He 
held  his  breath,  and  crouched  down,  watching. 
In  a  minute,  two  dark  forms,  keeping  carefully 
in  the  shadows  by  the  side  of  the  road,  crept 
stealthily  past. 

He  waited  till  they,  too,  were  out  of  sight, 
and  then  stood  up  with  tingling  pulses,  but 
quite  cool.  Moving  on  tiptoe,  he  stepped  light- 
ly over  the  low  stone  wall  into  the  road,  and 
gazed  after  them. 

The  ascent  was  steep,  and  the  road  curved 
round  and  round  in  zig-zag  fashion.  On  one 
side  it  was  bordered  by  a  thickly-growing  or- 
ange grove,  whose  delicate  perfume  was  sweet- 
ening the  still  languid  air.  On  the  other  was 
a  stretch  of  waste  open  country,  separated 
from  the  road  by  a  low  wall.  He  chose  the 
seaward  side,  and  keeping  under  the  shadow 
of  the  trees,  followed  them,  his  footsteps  sink- 
ing noiselessly  into  the  thick  dust. 

Once  the  two  ladies  paused  to  look  back. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     49 

He  stopped  too;  and  the  two  bending  figures 
between  them  drew  closer  into  the  shadows, 
and  waited.  He  was  some  distance  away,  but 
the  sound  of  her  voice  floated  clearly  down  to 
him  on  a  breath  of  that  faint  night  air. 

"  Ah,  how  beautiful  it  is,"  she  cried,  point- 
ing downward;  "just  a  few  steps,  and  we 
shall  see  the  sea  glistening  through  the  leaves 
of  the  orange  trees." 

"  I  am  sure  that  it  is  not  prudent,  Adrienne. 
We  have  come  past  the  footpath  down  to  the 
villa,  and  this  upper  road  is  so  lonely.  Listen ! 
I  fancied  that  I  heard  footsteps." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  a  low 
musical  laugh  which  sounded  to  him  like  the 
sweetest  music. 

"It  was  the  echo  of  our  own,  you  foolish 
child.  There  is  nothing  to  fear,  and  have  we 
not  Giovanni  ?  " 

Again  they  turned,  and  again  he  followed. 
Suddenly  his  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  About 
fifty  yards  in  front  of  the  two  girls  was  a  rude- 
ly-built country  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
mules  and  with  a  single  man  on  the  box.  They 
had  paused  at  such  an  unexpected  sight,  and 
seemed  to  be  deliberating  in  whispers  whether 
or  no  they  should  proceed.  Before  they  had 
come  to  any  decision,  the  two  men  had  crept 
out  from  the  shadow  of  the  wall  and  trees  into 


50     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

the  road,  and  with  bent  bodies  hurried  toward 
them. 

He  did  not  shout  out  or  make  any  noise ;  he 
simply  lessened  the  distance  between  him  and 
them  by  increasing  his  pace.  The  two  stoop- 
ing forms,  casting  long,  oblique  shadows  across 
the  white,  hard  road,  were  almost  level  with 
their  intended  victims.  Now  the  shadow  of 
one  of  them  crept  a  little  in  advance  of  the  la- 
dies, and  Adrienne  Cartuccio,  seeing  it,  stepped 
suddenly  back  with  a  cry  of  alarm. 

"  Giovanni !  Giovanni !  There  are  robbers ! 
Ah!" 

The  cry  became  a  shriek,  but  it  was  instantly 
stifled  by  a  coarse  hand  thrust  upon  her  mouth. 
At  the  same  moment  her  companion  felt  her- 
self treated  in  a  similar  manner.  They  could 
only  gaze  into  the  dark  ruffianly  faces  of  their 
captors  in  mute  terror.  The  whole  thing  had 
been  too  sudden  for  them  to  make  any  resist- 
ance, and  Giovanni,  their  trusted  escort,  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  disappeared.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  was  watching  the  proceedings  from 
behind  a  convenient  bowlder. 

The  man  who  was  holding  Adrienne  pointed 
to  the  carriage,  the  door  of  which  the  driver 
had  thrown  open. 

"  This  way,  Signorina,"  he  said.  "  It  is  use- 
less to  struggle.  We  shall  not  harm  you." 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     51 

She  shook  her  head  violently,  and  with  a 
sudden  effort  thrust  his  hand  away  from  her 
mouth. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  cried.  "  Who 
are  you?  You  can  have  my  jewels,  but  I  will 
never  step  inside  that  carriage.  Help !  help !  " 

He  wound  his  arms  around  her,  and,  with- 
out a  word,  commenced  dragging  her  across 
the  road. 

"  You  may  shout  as  much  as  you  like,  he 
muttered.  :t  There  will  only  be  echoes  to  an- 
swer you." 

A  sudden  warning  cry  rang  out  from  his 
companion,  and,  with  a  start,  he  released  his 
victim.  The  Englishman  had  stepped  into  the 
middle  of  the  group,  and,  before  he  could 
spring  back,  a  swinging  left-hander  sent  him 
down  into  the  dust  with  a  dull,  heavy  thud. 

"  You  blackguard ! "  he  thundered  out. 
Then  turning  quickly  round  he  faced  the  other 
man,  who  had  sprung  across  the  road  with 
bent  body,  and  with  his  right  hand  in  his  breast. 
There  was  a  gleam  of  cold  steel,  but  before  he 
could  use  the  knife  which  he  had  drawn,  his 
arm  was  grasped  and  held  as  though  by  a  vice, 
and  slowly  bent  backward.  He  dropped  the 
weapon,  with  a  shriek  of  pain,  upon  the  road, 
and  fell  on  his  knees  before  his  captor. 

The  Englishman's  grasp  relaxed,  and  taking 


$2     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

advantage  of  it,  the  man  suddenly  jumped  up, 
leaped  over  the  wall,  and  disappeared  in  the 
plantation.  Pursuit  would  have  been  impos- 
sible, but  none  of  them  thought  of  it. 

The  two  ladies  looked  at  their  preserver 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road — fair  and 
straight  and  tall,  like  a  Greek  god,  but  with  a 
terrible  fury  blazing  in  his  dark  blue  eyes. 

"  You  are  not  hurt,  I  trust  ?  "  he  asked,  his 
breath  coming  quickly,  for  he  was  in  a  tower- 
ing passion.  He  was  not  speaking  to  the 
darker  of  the  two  girls  at  all;  in  fact,  he  was 
unconscious  of  her  presence.  He  was  standing 
by  Adrienne  Cartuccio's  side,  watching  the 
faint  color  steal  again  into  her  cheeks,  and  the 
terror  dying  out  of  her  eyes,  to  be  replaced  by  a 
far  softer  light.  Her  black  lace  wrap,  which 
she  had  been  wearing  in  Spanish  fashion,  had 
fallen  a  little  back  from  her  head,  and  the 
moonlight  was  gleaming  upon  her  ruddy 
golden  hair,  all  wavy  and  disarranged,  throw- 
ing into  soft  relief  the  outline  of  her  slim,  girl- 
ish figure,  her  heaving  bosom,  and  the  ex- 
quisite transparency  of  her  complexion.  She 
stood  there  like  an  offended  young  queen,  pas- 
sionately wrathful  with  the  men  who  had  dared 
to  lay  their  coarse  hands  upon  her,  yet  feeling 
all  a  woman's  gratitude  to  their  preserver. 
Her  eyes  were  flashing  like  stars,  and  her 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     53 

brows  were  bent,  but  as  she  looked  into  his 
face  her  expression  softened.  Of  the  two  sen- 
sations gratitude  was  the  stronger. 

"  You  are  not  hurt  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  I  am 
sorry  that  I  did  not  get  here  sooner,  before 
that  fellow  touched  you." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  a  little 
impetuous  movement. 

"  Thanks  to  you.  No,  Signer,"  she  said,  her 
eyes  suddenly  filling  with  tears.  "  Oh,  how 
grateful  we  are,  are  we  not,  Margharita  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  indeed  we  are.  The  Signor  has 
saved  us  from  a  terrible  danger." 

He  laughed  a  little  awkwardly.  Where  is 
the  Englishman  who  likes  to  be  thanked? 

"  It  is  nothing.  The  fellows  were  arrant 
cowards.  But  what  was  the  carriage  doing 
here?" 

He  pointed  along  the  road.  Already  the 
clumsy  vehicle  had  become  a  black  speck  in 
the  distance,  swaying  heavily  from  side  to  side 
from  the  pace  at  which  it  was  being  driven, 
and  almost  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Adrienne  shook  her  head.  Margharita  had 
turned  away,  with  her  face  buried  in  her 
hands. 

"  I  cannot  imagine.  Perhaps  they  were  bri- 
gands, and  intended  to  carry  us  off  for  a  ran- 


som." 


54  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

The  Englishman  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Odd  sort  of  bandits/'  he  remarked.  "  Why, 
they  hadn't  the  pluck  of  a  chicken  between 
them,  especially  this  one." 

He  touched  the  prostrate  figure  with  his 
foot,  and  the  two  girls  shuddered. 

"  He  is — is  not  dead,  is  he  ?  "  Margharita 
asked. 

"  Not  he.  I  shouldn't  say  that  he  was  very 
badly  hurt  either,"  the  Englishman  declared, 
bending  down  and  listening  to  his  breathing. 
"  More  frightened  than  anything.  He'll  get 
up  and  be  off  directly  we  leave.  You  will  let 
me  see  you  home  ?  "  he  continued,  speaking  to 
Adrienne. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  gleam  of  humor 
in  her  wet  eyes. 

"  You  don't  imagine  that  we  should  let  you 
go  and  leave  us  here  ?  "  she  said.  "  Come, 
Margharita." 

The  Englishman  looked  at  the  other  girl, 
almost  for  the  first  time,  as  she  came  up  and 
joined  them.  Her  dark  eyes  were  full  of 
tears  and  her  face  was  troubled.  There  was 
very  little  relief  or  thankfulness  for  her  escape 
in  her  expression.  The  Englishman  was  no 
physiognomist,  but  he  was  a  little  puzzled. 

"  There  is  no  danger  now,  Signorina,"  he 
said  reassuringly.  "  To-morrow  I  will  go  to 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  55 

the  police,  and  I  dare  say  that  we  shall  get  to 
the  bottom  of  the  whole  affair." 

She  shuddered,  but  made  no  reply,  walking 
on  by  their  side,  but  a  little  distance  apart.  As 
for  the  Englishman,  he  was  in  paradise.  To 
all  intents  and  purposes,  he  was  alone  with 
Adrienne  Cartuccio,  listening  to  her  low  voice, 
and  every  now  and  then  stealing  a  glance 
downward  into  those  wonderful  eyes,  just 
then  very  soft  and  sweet.  That  walk  through 
the  scented  darkness,  with  the  far-off  murmur 
of  the  sea  always  in  their  ears,  was  like  the 
dawning  of  a  new  era  in  his  life. 

It  was  she  who  talked  most,  and  he  who  lis- 
tened. Yet  he  was  very  happy;  and  when 
they  reached  her  villa,  and  he  left  them  at  the 
door,  she  gave  him  a  white  flower  which  he 
had  found  courage  to  beg  for. 

"  May  I  call  on  you  to-morrow?  "  he  asked, 
trembling  for  the  answer. 

"  If  you  would  like  to,  yes,"  she  answered 
readily.  "  Come  early  if  you  have  nothing  to 
do,  and  we  will  give  you  afternoon  tea  a  VAn- 
glaise.  By  the  bye,"  she  added,  a  little  shyly, 
"  is  there  not  something  which  you  have  for- 
gotten?" 

He  divined  her  meaning  at  once. 

"  Of  course,  I  ought  to  have  told  you 
my  name ! "  he  exclaimed  hastily.  "  How 


56     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

stupid  of  me.  It  is  St.  Maurice — Lord  St. 
Maurice." 

"  Lord  St.  Maurice !  Then  are  you  not  the 
fortunate  possessor  of  that  delightful  little 
yacht  in  the  harbor  ?  " 

'  Yes,  if  you  mean  the  Pandora,  she's  mine. 
Do  you  like  sailing?  Will  you  come  for  a 
sail  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"We'll  talk  about  it  to-morrow,"  she 
laughed,  holding  out  her  hand.  "  Good-night." 

He  let  her  hand  go.  If  he  held  it  a  moment 
longer,  and  a  little  more  firmly  than  was  ab- 
solutely necessary,  was  he  much  to  blame? 

"  Good-night,"  he  said.  "  Good-night,  Sig- 
norina,"  he  added,  bowing  to  Margharita.  "  I 
shall  come  to-morrow  afternoon." 

Then  he  turned  away,  and  walked  with  long 
swinging  steps  back  to  the  hotel. 


CHAPTER   VI 


THE  BITTER  SPRINGS  OF  ANGER  AND  FEAR  " 


"  MARGHARITA  ! " 

She  had  found  her  way  into  a  lonely  corner 
of  the  villa  grounds,  and,  with  her  head  rest- 
ing upon  her  hands,  she  was  gazing  across  the 
blue  sunlit  waters  of  the  bay.  Below,  hidden 
by  the  thickly-growing  shrubs,  was  the  white, 
dusty  road,  and  the  voice  which  disturbed  her 
thoughts  seemed  to  come  from  it.  She  pushed 
the  white  flowering  rhododendrons  on  one  side, 
and  peered  through. 

"  Leonardo !  "  she  exclaimed.    "  Leonardo !  " 

She  seemed  surprised  to  see  him  standing 
there,  pale,  dusty,  and  with  a  great  weariness 
shining  out  of  his  black  eyes,  and  it  did  not 
occur  to  her  to  offer  him  any  greeting.  She 
could  not  say  that  she  was  glad  to  see  him,  and 
yet  her  heart  ached  when  she  looked  into  his 
pale,  sorrowful  face.  So  she  was  silent. 

"Are  you  alone?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes.    Adrienne  is  in  the  house,  I  believe." 

'  Then  I  am  coming  in." 

She  looked  troubled,  but  she  could  not  send 
him  away.  He  clambered  over  the  low  paling, 

57 


58  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

and,  pushing  back  the  boughs  of  the  shrubs 
which  grew  between  them,  made  his  way  up 
the  bank  to  her  side. 

"  Have  you  been  away  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  home.  Home,"  he  re- 
peated bitterly.  "  I  have  wandered  through 
the  woods,  and  I  have  climbed  the  hills  where 
we  spent  our  childhood.  I  have  looked  upon 
the  old  scenes,  and  my  heart  is  broken." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  For  a  moment 
her  thoughts,  too,  went  back  to  the  days  when 
they  had  been  children  together,  and  he  had 
been  her  hero  brother.  How  time  had  changed 
them  both,  and  how  far  apart  they  had  drifted. 
They  could  never  be  the  same  again.  She 
knew  it  quite  well.  There  had  grown  up  a 
great  barrier  between  them.  She  could  not 
even  pretend  to  sympathize  with  him,  although 
her  heart  was  still  full  of  pity. 

"  Leonardo,  I  am  sorry,"  she  whispered. 
"  How  is  it,  I  wonder,  that  all  through  life 
you  seem  to  have  set  your  heart  upon  things 
which  are  impossible." 

"It  is  fate!" 

"  Fate !  But  you  are  a  man,  and  man  should 
control  fate." 

"  Have  I  not  tried  ?  "  he  answered  bitterly. 

'  Tell  me,  do  I  so  easily  relinquish  my  great 

desire  ?    Why  am  I  here  ?    Because  I  have  said 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     59 

to  myself  that  I  will  not  be  denied.  Adrienne 
shall  be  mine !  " 

She  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"  We  have  not  met,  Leonardo,  since  the 
night  after  the  concert.  Do  you  know  that  we 
had  an  adventure  on  the  way  home  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  he  answered,  looking 
away. 

"  Is  there  any  need,  Leonardo?  " 

A  faint  tinge  of  color  stole  into  his  olive 
cheek. 

"  You  guessed  then,"  he  said.  "  Tell  me, 
does  she  know  ?  Has  she  any  idea  ?  " 

"  None." 

"  She  does  not  suspect  me  at  all  ?  " 

"  No ;  she  thinks  that  it  was  an  ordinary  at- 
tack by  robbers,  and  that  the  carriage  was  to 
take  us  a  little  way  into  the  interior,  so  that 
they  might  hold  us  and  demand  a  ransom.  It 
was  her  own  idea;  I  said  nothing.  I  feel  as 
though  I  were  deceiving  her,  but  I  cannot  tell 
her.  She  would  never  look  upon  your  face 
again,  Leonardo." 

"  You  must  not  tell  her,"  he  muttered. 
"  Swear  that  you  will  not !  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  There  is  no  need.  I  am  not  anxious  to 
denounce  my  own  brother  as  a  would-be  ab- 
ductor." 


60     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"  Margharita,  I  was  desperate,"  he  cried 
passionately.  "  And  that  cursed  Englishman, 
he  has  become  my  evil  genius.  It  was  a  mis- 
erable chance  that  enabled  him  to  become  your 
preserver." 

"  It  was  a  very  fortunate  one  for  you,  Leon- 
ardo." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  cried  sharply. 
"  Tell  me,  has  he  been  here?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  seemed  to  calm  himself  with  a  great  ef- 
fort. He  was  on  the  threshold  of  what  he  had 
come  to  know.  He  must  keep  cool,  or  she 
would  tell  him  nothing. 

"  Margharita,"  he  said  slowly,  "  the  time  is 
fast  coming  when  I  shall  have  no  more  favors 
to  ask  you.  Will  you  remember  that  you  are 
my  sister,  and  grant  me  a  great  one  now  ?  " 

"  If  I  can,  Leonardo." 

"  It  is  good.  I  shall  not  ask  you  anything 
impossible  or  unreasonable.  Tell  me  the  truth 
about  Adrienne  and  this  Englishman.  Tell  me 
how  you  have  spent  your  days  since  this  affair, 
and  how  often  he  has  been  here.  Then  tell  me 
what  you  yourself  think.  Tell  me  whether  she 
cares  for  him ;  and  he  for  her.  Let  me  hear  the 
whole  truth,  so  that  I  may  know  how  to  act." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  A  yellow- 
breasted  bird  flew  between  them,  and  a  shower 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     61 

of  rhododendron  blossoms  fell  at  their  feet. 
The  lazy  murmur  of  insects  floated  upon  the 
heavy  afternoon  air,  so  faint  and  breathless 
that  the  leaves  which  grew  thick  around  them 
scarcely  rustled.  A  clump  of  pink  and  white 
hyacinths  grew  out  of  the  wall,  the  waxy  heads 
bent  with  the  weight  of  their  heavy,  bell- 
shaped  petals.  She  snapped  off  a  white  blos- 
som, and  toyed  with  it  in  her  fingers  for  a  mo- 
ment. The  lazy  joy  of  the  hot  afternoon 
seemed  to  grate  upon  her  when  she  looked  into 
that  white,  strained  face,  deep  lined  and  suffer- 
ing. What  right  had  nature  to  put  forth  all 
her  sweet  sights  and  perfumes,  to  be  so  peace- 
ful and  joyous,  while  man,  her  master,  could 
feel  such  agony?  It  was  mockery,  it  was  not 
right  or  fair. 

She  thrust  the  flower  into  his  hand. 

"  Leonardo,"  she  whispered,  "  remember  our 
watchword, '  Endurance/  I  will  tell  you  every- 
thing. Lord  St.  Maurice  came  on  the  day 
after  our  adventure.  He  stayed  till  evening, 
and  we  walked  with  him  on  the  Marina.  The 
next  day  we  went  yachting  with  him.  Yester- 
day and  to-day  he  has  spent  nearly  the  whole 
of  his  time  here.  I  believe  that  he  is  in  love 
with  Adrienne,  and  as  for  her,  if  she  does  not 
love  him  already,  I  believe  that  she  soon  will. 
You  have  asked  for  the  truth,  my  brother,  and 


62     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

it  is  best  that  you  should  have  it.  Forgive  me 
for  the  pain  it  must  cause  you." 

He  passed  his  arm  round  the  gnarled  branch 
of  a  small  chestnut  tree,  and  then,  turning 
round,  hid  his  face.  There  was  a  great  lump 
rising  in  her  throat,  but  she  dared  not  attempt 
to  console  him.  She  knew  that  he  was  angry 
with  her — that  he  blamed  her  for  his  fruitless 
love,  and  despised  her  for  the  lover  she  had 
chosen.  In  the  days  of  their  youth  they  had 
both  been  dreamers.  He  had  been  faithful  to 
the  proud,  romantic  patriotism  which  had  been 
the  keynote  of  their  idealism;  she,  in  his  eyes 
at  any  rate,  had  been  utterly  faithless.  Only 
her  affection  had  remained  steadfast,  and  even 
that  he  had  commenced  to  doubt. 

Presently  he  turned  and  faced  her.  His  face 
was  ghastly  white,  but  his  eyes  were  hot  and 
red. 

'  Where  is  she  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  am  going 
to  her.  I  am  going  to  see  with  my  own  eyes, 
and  hear  with  my  own  ears,  whether  this 
story  of  yours  be  true.  Where  is  she  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"  Leonardo,"  she  said,  "  forgive  me ;  but  you 
will  frighten  her  if  you  go  as  you  are  now. 
Your  clothes  are  all  dusty  and  ragged,  and  you 
look  as  though  you  were  on  the  threshold  of  a 
fever.  Besides,  she  is  asleep.  Go  down  to  the 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     63 

hotel  and  change  your  clothes,  and  then  ride 
up  here  to  call.  Somehow  or  other  I  will  man- 
age that  she  shall  see  you  then." 

He  looked  down  at  himself  and  smiled  bit- 
terly. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  said,  "  I  look  but  a  sorry 
lover.  Remember,  Margharita,  that  I  hold  you 
to  your  promise.  In  an  hour  I  shall  return." 

He  left  the  grounds,  and  walked  down  the 
hill,  with  bent  shoulders,  and  never  a  glance 
to  the  right  or  the  left. 


CHAPTER   VII 

COMFORT !  COMFORT  SCORNED  OF  DEVILS 

"  ADRIENNE,  I  am  the  happiest  man  in  the 
world." 

"  For  how  long,  sir  ?  " 

" Pour  la  vie"  he  answered  solemnly. 

Her  hand  stole  softly  into  his,  and  there 
was  a  long  silence  between  them.  What  need 
had  they  of  words  ?  It  is  only  the  lighter  form 
of  love,  fancy  touched  by  sentiment,  which 
seeks  for  expressions  by  such  means.  Their 
love  was  different;  a  silent  consciousness  of 
each  other's  presence  sufficed  for  them.  And 
so  they  sat  there,  side  by  side,  steeped  in  the 
deep,  subtle  joy  of  that  perfect  love  which  upon 
the  nature  of  both  the  man  and  the  woman  had 
so  chastening  and  spiritualizing  an  influence. 
There  was  a  new  music  in  their  lives,  a  sweeter 
harmony  than  either  of  them  had  ever  been 
conscious  of  before.  The  world  had  grown 
more  beautiful — and  it  was  for  them.  The 
love  which  widens  and  deepens  also  narrows. 
Humanity  was  a  forgotten  factor  in  their 
thoughts.  All  that  they  saw  and  dreamed  of 
was  theirs  to  taste,  to  admire  and  to  enjoy  to- 

64 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  65 

gether.  It  was  for  them  that  the  silvery  moon 
and  the  softly  burning  stars  cast  upon  the  sleep- 
ing earth  a  strange  new  beauty.  It  was  for 
them  the  air  hung  heavy  with  the  faint  per- 
fume of  spices,  and  the  mingled  scents  of  helio- 
trope and  violets.  It  was  for  them  that  the 
dark  pine  trees  waved  softly  backward  and 
forward  against  the  violet  sky;  for  them  that 
the  far-away  sea  made  melancholy  music 
against  the  pebbly  beach,  and  the  soft  night 
wind  rustled  among  the  tree  tops  in  the  orange 
groves.  All  nature  was  fair  for  their  sakes. 
It  is  the  grand  selfishness  of  love — a  noble  vice. 

"Adrienne!" 

They  both  started  and  looked  round.  The 
voice  was  harsh  and  agitated,  and  it  broke  in 
like  a  jarring  note  upon  their  sweet,  absorbed 
silence.  It  was  Leonardo  di  Marioni  who. 
stood  before  them  on  the  balcony — Leonardo, 
with  white  face  and  darkly-gleaming  eyes.  To 
Lord  St.  Maurice,  that  stifled  cry  had  sounded 
like  the  hiss  of  the  snake  in  paradise,  and  when 
he  looked  up  the  simile  seemed  completed. 

"  Is  it  you,  Leonardo?  "  Adrienne  said,  let- 
ting go  her  lover's  hand,  and  leaning  back  in 
her  chair.  "  Your  entrance  is  a  little  uncere- 
monious, is  it  not  ?  Were  there  no  servants  to 
announce  you,  or  to  bring  me  word  of  your 
presence  ?  I  dislike  surprises." 


66     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"  And  I,  too,  Adrienne — I,  too,  dislike  sur- 
prises," he  answered,  his  voice  quivering  with 
passion.  "  I  find  one  awaiting  me  here." 

She  rose  and  stood  facing  him,  cold  but  an- 
gry- 

"  You   are   forgetting  yourself,    Count   di 

Marioni,  and  your  speech  is  a  presumption. 
We  have  been  friends,  but,  if  you  wish  our 
friendship  to  continue,  you  will  alter  your  tone. 
You  have  no  right  to  speak  to  me  in  that  tone, 
and  I  expect  an  apology." 

His  lips  quivered,  and  he  spoke  with  a 
strange  bitterness. 

"No  right!  Ay,  you  say  well  'no  right/ 
Adrienne.  Will  you  spare  me  a  few  moments 
alone?  I  have  a  thing  to  say  to  you." 

She  frowned  and  hesitated  for  a  moment. 
After  all,  she  had  a  woman's  heart,  and  she 
could  not  choose  but  pity  him. 

'  Will  not  another  time  do,  Leonardo  ?  "  she 
asked  almost  gently.  "  You  see  I  have  a  vis- 
itor." 

Yes,  he  saw  it.  He  had  looked  up  into  the 
handsome,  debonair  face,  with  that  proud, 
happy  smile  upon  the  parted  lips,  from  the  gar- 
den path  below.  How  he  hated  it. 

"  I  may  be  summoned  away  from  Palermo 
at  any  moment,"  he  said.  "  Cannot  you  spare 
me  a  short  five  minutes  ?  I  will  go  away  then." 


67 

She  looked  down  at  her  lover.  He  rose  to 
his  feet  promptly. 

"  I'll  have  a  cigar  among  the  magnolias,"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Call  me  when  I  may  come  up." 

A  look  passed  between  them  which  sent  a 
swift,  keen  pain  through  the  Sicilian's  heart. 
Then  Lord  St.  Maurice  vaulted  over  the  bal- 
cony, alighting  in  the  garden  below,  and  they 
were  alone. 

"  Adrienne !  "  Leonardo  cried,  and  his  voice 
was  low  and  bitter,  "  I  dare  not  ask,  and  yet  I 
must  know.  Tell  me  quickly.  Don't  torture 
me.  You  care  for  this  Englishman  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"You  love  him?" 

"  Dearly.    With  all  my  heart." 

"  You  are  going  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

And  not  all  her  pity  could  keep  the  joy  from 
her  tone  as  she  uttered  the  last  monosyllable. 

"My  God!    My  God!" 

The  suffering  in  his  white  face  was  awful  to 
see.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  knew  that 
she  had  done  this  man  no  wrong,  that  he  had 
never  had  a  single  word  of  definite  encourage- 
ment from  her,  that,  time  after  time,  she  had 
told  him  that  his  love  was  hopeless.  Yet  her 
heart  was  heavy  as  she  watched  his  anguish. 

"  Leonardo !  "  she  said  softly,  "  I  am  sorry. 


68  TO   WIN   THE   LOVE   HE   SOUGHT 

But  surely  you  do  not  blame  me?  Is  it  my 
fault  that  I  love  him,  and  not  you?  Have  I 
not  begged  you  often  to  accept  the  only  answer 
I  could  ever  give  you?  Be  generous,  Leo- 
nardo, and  let  us  be  friends." 

It  was  several  moments  before  he  spoke,  and 
then  it  seemed  as  though  there  had  been  a  con- 
flict in  the  man,  and  the  worse  half  had  con- 
quered. The  dumb  grief  in  his  eyes,  which 
had  been  so  piteous  to  witness,  had  changed 
suddenly  into  a  furious,  passionate  anger.  He 
shook  with  the  violence  of  his  emotions,  and 
though  she  was  used  to  his  stormy,  impetuous 
nature,  she  was  frightened. 

"  Friends !  A  curse  upon  such  folly !  Is  it 
for  friendship's  sake  that  I  have  followed  you 
here  at  the  risk  of  my  life,  just  to  breathe  the 
same  air,  to  look  but  now  and  then  into  your 
face?  Ah!  Adrienne!  Adrienne!  listen  once 
more  to  me.  Do  you  think  that  he  can  love  as 
I  do?  Never!  never!  I  know  that  sluggish 
English  temperament.  Their  wives  are  their 
servants  or  their  dolls.  Their  passion  is  the 
passion  of  animals,  and  they  have  not  even 
constancy." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  He  had  destroyed 
her  pity.  Henceforth  he  was  obnoxious  to 
her. 

"  Leave  me,"  she  commanded.     "  You  are 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     69 

talking  of  what  you  do  not  understand.  You 
are  insulting  me.  I  detest  you !  " 

"  Detest  me !  "  he  laughed  hysterically,  and 
the  fire  in  his  eyes  grew  brighter.  "  Since 
when?  Since  this  cursed  Englishman  whis- 
pered his  lies  into  your  ears  and  stole  you  from 
me.  Nay,  do  not  shake  your  head.  Mine  you 
would  have  been  some  day,  as  surely  as  now 
you  have  rnade  my  life  a  hell.  My  love  would 
have  conquered  in  the  end.  It  would  have 
worn  away  your  coldness  and  your  resistance 
drop  by  drop.  Mother  of  God!  it  shall  con- 
quer! Do  I  come  of  a  race  who  are  content 
to  stand  calmly  by  and  see  the  woman  they 
love  stolen  away  by  strangers  ?  No !  " 

He  stopped  short,  and  there  was  a  strange 
look  in  his  face.  Adrienne  saw  it,  and  trem- 
bled. 

"  Leonardo,"  she  said,  "  I  call  a  man  who 
cannot  bear  a  disappointment  a  coward.  I  do 
not  love  you ;  and  under  no  circumstances  what- 
ever would  it  have  been  possible  for  me  ever 
to  have  married  you.  Never !  never !  " 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 

"  We  shall  see!  "  he  said.  "  Au  revoir,  my 
cousin." 

The  emphasis  in  his  tone,  and  a  certain  fixed 
look  in  his  face  chilled  her.  She  held  up  her 
hands,  and  he  stayed. 


70  TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

"  Listen ! "  she  said,  speaking  slowly,  and 
with  her  eyes  fixed  steadily  upon  him.  "  I  da 
not  wish  to  think  ill  of  you;  I  do  not  wish  to 
think  that  you  could  harm  the  man  I  love ;  but, 
if  you  did — if  you  did,  I  say — you  should  taste 
a  woman's  vengeance!  You  think  me  weak, 
but  there  are  things  which  will  fire  the  blood 
and  steel  the  nerve  of  a  weaker  woman  than  I 
am.  Remember,  Leonardo!  Lift  but  your 
little  finger  against  Lord  St.  Maurice,  and  all 
ties  of  kindred  and  country  are  forgotten. 
Those  means  which  lie  ready  to  my  hand,  I 
will  use !  I  have  warned  you !  Remember !  " 

Her  tone  had  passed  from  earnestness  to 
solemnity ;  her  attitude,  her  final  gesture,  were 
full  of  dramatic  grace.  Beside  her,  he  ap- 
peared mean  and  insignificant. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  candor,  cousin,"  he 
said  slowly.  "  If  I  harm  your  lover " 

"  If  you  harm  him,"  she  interrupted  fiercely, 
"  you  will  win  my  undying  hate,  even  while 
you  are  undergoing  my  vengeance.  You 
know  my  power,  Leonardo;  you  know  the 
means  which  lie  ready  to  my  hand.  Never 
doubt  but  that  I  shall  use  them." 

He  turned  round  and  walked  out  of  the 
house,  passing  Lord  St.  Maurice  in  the  garden 
without  even  glancing  toward  him.  In  the 
road  he  paused  for  a  moment,  watching  the 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     71 

long  shadows  pass  quivering  across  the  dark 
hills,  and  the  gleam  of  the  moonlight  upon  the 
water  far  away  below. 

"  She  would  never  dare !  "  he  murmured  to 
himself.  "  She  is  a  woman,  and  she  would 
forget." 


CHAPTER   VIII 


DEATH    IN   THE  FACE,   AND   MURDER   IN   THE 


HEART  " 


LORD  ST.  MAURICE  was  in  a  good  humor 
with  himself  and  the  entire  world  that  night. 
He  had  spent  nearly  the  whole  of  the  day  with 
the  woman  he  loved,  and  whom  he  was  shortly 
to  marry,  and  with  the  prospect  of  another  such 
day  on  the  morrow,  even  his  temporary  exile 
from  paradise  was  not  a  very  severe  trial.  He 
was  an  ardent  suitor,  and  deeply  in  love,  but 
an  hour  or  two  alone  with  a  case  of  excellent 
cigars,  with  delightful  thoughts  to  keep  him 
company,  the  softest  air  in  Europe  to  breathe, 
and  one  of  the  most  picturesque  sights  to  look 
upon,  could  scarcely  be  esteemed  a  hardship. 
Above  him,  among  the  woods,  twinkled  the 
bright  lights  of  the  Villa  Fiolesse  which  he 
had  just  quitted,  and  below  was  the  gay  little 
Marina,  still  dotted  about  with  groups  of  men 
in  soft  hats  and  light  clothes,  and  bright-eyed, 
laughing  women,  whose  musical  voices  rang 
out  on  the  still  night  air  with  strange  distinct- 
ness. 

Through  the  clinging  magnolia  bushes  and 
72 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     73 

rhododendron  shrubs  he  pushed  his  way  down- 
ward, the  red  end  of  his  cigar  shining  out  like 
a  signal  light  in  the  semi-purple  darkness. 
Every  now  and  then  he  stopped  to  take  a 
breath  of  air  perfumed  by  a  clump  of  hyacinth, 
or  some  star-shaped  flower  which  had  yielded 
up  its  sweetness  to  the  softly-falling  night. 
Now  and  then,  too,  he  took  a  lover's  look  at 
the  stars,  and  downward  to  the  softly-heaving 
bosom  of  the  Mediterranean.  All  these  things 
seemed  to  mean  so  much  more  to  him  now! 
Adrienne  had  changed  the  world,  and  he  was 
looking  out  upon  it  with  different  eyes.  Sen- 
timent, which  before  he  had  scoffed  at  a  little, 
as  became  a  sturdy  young  Briton  but  lately  es- 
caped from  public  school  and  college,  had  sud- 
denly become  for  him  something  akin  to  a  holy 
thing.  He  was  almost  a  pdet  that  night — he 
who  had  scarcely  read  a  line  of  what  the  world 
calls  poetry  since  his  school  days.  There  was 
a  man  whom  he  had  hated  all  his  life.  Just 
then  he  began  to  think  of  him  without  a  par- 
ticle of  anger  or  resentment.  If  he  could  have 
met  him  there,  among  those  drooping,  white- 
flowering  shrubs,  he  felt  that  he  could  have 
shaken  his  hand,  have  asked  him  heartily  after 
his  health,  and  doubtless  have  fixed  a  day  to 
dine  with  him.  The  world  was  a  capital  place, 
and  Palermo  was  on  the  threshold  of  heaven. 


74     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

His  big,  boyish  heart  was  full  to  over-flowing. 
{Oh!  it  is  a  fine  thirty  to  be  in  lovejX 

From  the  present  he  began  to  think  a  little 
of  the  future.  He  was  right  in  the  clouds,  and 
he  began  to  dream.  At  twenty-five  years  old 
imagination  is  the  master  of  the  man ;  at  forty 
the  situations  are  reversed;  but  in  losing  the 
upper  hand  imagination  often  loses  its  power 
and  freshness.  Lord  St.  Maurice  was  in  his 
twenty-sixth  year,  and  he  began  to  dream.  He 
was  his  own  master,  and  he  was  rich.  There 
was  a  fine  estate  in  Eastshire,  a  shooting  lodge 
in  Scotland,  and  a  box  in  Leicestershire. 
Which  would  Adrienne  prefer  ?  How  delight- 
ful it  would  be  to  take  her  to  them  in  the  proper 
seasons,  and  find  out  which  one  pleased  her 
most.  When  they  reached  England,  after  a 
cruise  as  far  as  Cairo  and  back  along  the  Med- 
iterranean, July  would  be  on  the  wane.  It  was 
just  the  best  time.  They  would  go  straight  to 
Scotland  and  have  a  few  days  alone  upon  those 
glorious  moors  before  the  shooting  commenced. 
He  remembered,  with  a  little  laugh,  the  bach- 
elor invitations  which  he  had  given,  and  which 
must  now  be  rescinded.  Bother  bachelor  in- 
vitations !  Adrienne  was  sure  to  like  Scotland. 
This  southern  land  with  its  profusion  of  flow- 
ers, its  deep,  intense  coloring,  and  its  softly- 
blowing  winds,  was  beautiful  enough  in  its 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     75 

way,  but  the  purple  covered  moors  and  cloud- 
topped  hills  of  Scotland  had  their  own  charm. 
Adrienne  had  never  seen  heather ;  and  his  long, 
low  cottage  was  set  in  a  very  sea  of  it.  How 
pleasant  the  evening  would  be,  out  on  the  bal- 
cony, with  the  red  sun  sinking  down  behind 
Bathness  Hill.  Ah !  how  happy  they  would  be. 
Life  had  never  seemed  so  fair  a  thing ! 

He  was  on  the  Marina  by  this  time,  elbow- 
ing his  way  among  the  people  who  were  still 
lazily  walking  backward  and  forward,  or 
standing  in  little  knots  talking.  The  open-air 
restaurant,  too,  was  crowded,  but  there  were  a 
few  vacant  seats,  and  among  them  the  little 
iron  chair  in  which  he  had  been  lounging  on 
that  evening  when  Adrienne  Cartuccio  had 
passed  by  among  the  crowd.  He  stopped  short, 
and  stepping  lightly  over  the  railing,  drew  it  to 
him,  and  sat  down.  The  busy  waiter  was  by 
his  side  in  a  moment  with  coffee  and  liqueurs, 
and  taking  a  cigar  from  his  case  he  began  med- 
itatively to  smoke. 

Since  sundown  the  hot  air  had  grown  closer 
and  more  sulphurous,  and  away  westward  over 
the  waters  the  heavens  seemed  to  be  continu- 
ally opening  and  closing,  belching  out  great 
sheets  of  yellow  light.  A  few  detached  masses 
of  black  clouds  were  slowly  floating  across  the 
starlit  sky.  Now  one  had  reached  the  moon, 


76     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

and  a  sudden  darkness  fell  upon  the  earth. 
With  such  a  lamp  in  the  sky  illuminations  in 
the  hotel  gardens  were  a  thing  unheard  of,  and 
the  effect  was  singular.  Only  the  red  lights 
of  the  smokers  were  visible,  dotted  here  and 
there  like  glow-worms.  Conversation,  too, 
dropped.  Men  lowered  their  voices,  the  women 
ceased  to  make  the  air  alive  with  the  music  of 
their  laughter.  It  was  the  southern  nature. 
When  the  sky  was  fair,  their  hearts  were  light 
and  their  voices  gay.  Now  there  was  a  mo- 
mentary gloom,  and  every  one  shivered. 

The  Englishman  looked  up  at  the  cloud, 
wondered  whether  there  would  be  a  storm,  and 
calmly  went  on  smoking.  The  sudden  hush 
and  darkness  meant  nothing  to  him.  In  his 
state  of  mind  they  were  rather  welcome  than 
otherwise.  But  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness  a 
strange  thing  happened. 

He  was  neither  superstitious  nor  impression- 
able. From  either  weakness  he  would  con- 
temptuously, and  with  perfect  truth,  have 
declared  himself  altogether  free.  But  sud- 
denly the  sweet,  swiftly-flowing  current  of  his 
thoughts  came  to  a  full  stop.  He  was  con- 
scious of  a  cold  chill,  which  he  could  not  in  any 
way  explain.  There  had  been  no  sound  of 
footsteps,  nothing  to  warn  him  of  it,  but  he 
fancied  himself  abruptly  encountered  by  some 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  77 

nameless  danger.  The  perspiration  broke  out 
upon  his  forehead,  and  the  cigar  dropped  from 
his  fingers.  Was  it  a  nightmare,  the  prelude  to 
a  fever  ?  Was  he  going  mad  ?  Oh !  it  was  hor- 
rible! 

By  a  great  effort  of  will  he  contrived  to  raise 
his  eyes  to  the  cloud.  It  had  almost  passed 
away  from  the  face  of  the  moon.  The  main 
body  of  it  was  already  floating  northward, 
only  one  long  jagged  edge  remained.  There 
could  be  only  a  second  or  two  more  of  this 
unnatural  gloom.  His  heart  was  thankful  for 
it.  Ah!  what  was  that?  He  bit  his  tongue 
hard,  or  he  would  have  called  out.  Either  he 
was  dreaming,  or  that  was  the  warm  panting 
breath  of  a  human  being  upon  his  cheek. 

He  sprang  up,  with  his  arm  stretched  out  as 
though  to  defend  himself,  and  holding  his 
breath;  but  there  was  no  sound,  save  the  dull 
murmur  of  whispered  conversation  around. 
One  glance  more  at  the  cloud.  How  slowly  it 
moved.  Ah !  thank  God !  the  light  was  coming. 
Already  the  shadows  were  moving  away. 
Voices  were  being  raised ;  figures  were  becom- 
ing distinct;  in  a  moment  the  moon  would  be 
free. 

It  was  all  over.  Laughing  voices  once  more 
filled  the  air.  The  waiters  were  running  about 
more  busily  than  ever ;  people  rubbed  their  eyes 


78     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

and  joked  about  the  darkness.  But  the  Eng- 
lishman sat  quite  still,  holding  in  his  hand  a 
long,  curiously-shaped  dagger,  which  the  first 
gleam  of  moonlight  had  shown  him  lying  at  his 
feet. 

He  was  no  coward,  but  he  gave  a  little  shud- 
der as  he  examined  the  thing,  and  felt  its  blue- 
ish  steel  edge  with  his  finger.  It  was  by  no 
means  a  toy  weapon ;  it  had  been  fashioned  and 
meant  for  use.  What  use?  Somehow  he  felt 
that  he  had  escaped  a  very  great  danger,  as  he 
put  the  thing  thoughtfully  into  his  pocket,  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair.  The  shrill  voices  and 
clatter  of  glasses  around  him  sounded  curi- 
ously unreal  in  his  ears. 

By  degrees  he  came  to  himself,  and  leaning 
forward  took  a  match  from  the  little  marble 
table,  and  re-lit  his  cigar.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  he  noticed  with  a  start,  that  the  chair 
opposite  to  him  was  occupied,  occupied,  too, 
by  a  figure  which  was  perfectly  familiar.  It 
was  the  Sicilian  who  sat  there,  quietly  smok- 
ing a  long  cigarette,  and  with  his  face  shaded 
by  the  open  palm  of  his  hand. 

Lord  St.  Maurice  made  no  sign  of  recogni- 
tion. On  the  contrary,  he  turned  his  head 
away,  preferring  not  to  be  seen.  His  nerves 
were  already  highly  strung,  and  there  seemed 
to  him  to  be  something  ominous  in  this  second 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     79 

meeting  with  the  Sicilian.  If  he  could  have 
been  sure  of  being  able  to  do  so  unnoticed,  he 
would  have  got  up  and  gone  into  the  hotel. 

"  Good-evening,  Signer !  " 

Lord  St.  Maurice  turned  and  looked  into  the 
white,  corpse-like  face  of  the  Sicilian.  It  told 
its  own  story.  There  was  trouble  to  come. 

"  Good-evening,  Signer,"  he  answered  qui- 
etly. 

The  Sicilian  leaned  over  the  table.  There 
were  gray  rims  under  his  eyes,  and  even  his 
lips  had  lost  their  color. 

"  A  week  ago,  Signor,"  he  remarked,  "  we 
occupied  these  same  seats  here." 

"  I  remember  it,"  Lord  St.  Maurice  replied 
quietly. 

"  It  is  well.  It  is  of  the  events  which  have 
followed  that  night  that  I  desire  to  speak,  if 
you,  Signor,  will  grant  me  a  few  moments  of 
your  time  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  the  Englishman  replied  courte- 
ously. After  all,  perhaps  the  fellow  did  not 
mean  to  quarrel. 

"  I  regret  exceedingly  having  to  trouble  you, 
Signor,  with  a  little  personal  history,"  the  Sicil- 
ian continued.  "  I  must  tell  you,  at  the  com- 
mencement, that  for  five  years  I  have  been  a 
suitor  for  the  hand  of  the  Signorina  Adrienne 
Cartuccio,  my  cousin." 


8o     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"  Second  cousin,  I  believe,"  Lord  St.  Mau- 
rice interposed. 

The  Sicilian  waved  his  hand.  It  was  of  no 
consequence. 

"  Certain  political  differences  with  the  Im- 
perial party  at  Rome,"  he  continued,  "  culmi- 
nated two  years  ago  in  my  banishment  from 
Italy  and  Sicily.  You,  I  believe,  Lord  St. 
Maurice,  are  of  ancient  family,  and  it  is  pos- 
sible that  you  may  understand  to  some  extent 
the  bitterness  of  exile  from  a  country  and  a 
home  which  has  been  the  seat  of  my  family  for 
nearly  a  thousand  years.  Such  a  sentence  is 
not  banishment  as  the  world  understands  it; 
it  is  a  living  death !  But,  Signor,  it  was  not  all. 
It  was  not  even  the  worst.  Alas,  that  I,  a 
Marioni,  should  live  to  confess  it!  But  to  be 
parted  from  the  woman  I  love  was  even  a 
sorer  trial.  Yet  I  endured  it.  I  endured  it; 
hoping  against  hope  for  a  recall.  My  sister 
and  I  were  orphans.  She  made  her  home  with 
the  Signorina  Cartuccio.  Thus  I  had  news  of 
her  continually.  Sometimes  my  cousin  her- 
self wrote  to  me.  It  was  these  letters  which 
preserved  my  reason,  and  consciously  or 
unconsciously,  they  breathed  to  me  ever  of 
hope. 

"  Not  Adrienne's,  I'll  swear,"  the  English- 
man muttered  to  himself.  He  was  a  true  Brit- 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  81 

on,  and  there  was  plenty  of  dormant  jealousy 
not  very  far  from  the  surface. 

The  Sicilian  heard  the  words,  and  his  eyes 
flashed. 

"  The  Signorina  Cartuccio,  if  you  please, 
Signer,"  he  remarked  coldly.  "  We  are  in  a 
public  place." 

Lord  St.  Maurice  felt  that  he  could  afford  to 
accept  the  rebuke,  and  he  bowed  his  head. 

"  My  remark  was  not  intended  to  be  audi- 
ble ! "  he  declared. 

"  For  two  years  I  bore  with  my  wretched 
life,"  the  Sicilian  continued,  "  but  at  last  my 
endurance  came  to  an  end.  I  determined  to 
risk  my  liberty,  that  I  might  hear  my  fate  from 
her  own  lips.  I  crossed  the  Alps  without  mo- 
lestation, and  even  enterecl  Rome.  There  I  was 
watched,  but  not  interfered  with.  The  conclu- 
sion I  came  to  was,  that  as  long  as  I  lived  the 
life  of  an  ordinary  citizen,  and  showed  no  in- 
terest in  politics,  I  was  safe.  I  crossed  to  Pa- 
lermo unharmed.  I  have  seen  the  Signorina, 
and  I  have  made  my  appeal." 

The  Englishman  dropped  his  eyes  and 
knocked  the  ash  from  his  cigar.  The  fellow 
was  coming  to  the  point  at  last. 

"  You,  Signor,"  the  Sicilian  continued,  in  a 
tone  which,  although  it  was  no  louder,  seemed 
to  gain  in  intensity  from  the  smoldering  pas- 


82  TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

sion  underneath,  "  you,  Signer,  know  what  my 
answer  was,  for  you  were  the  cause.  I  have 
not  told  you  this  much  of  my  story  to  win  your 
pity;  I  simply  tell  it  that  I  may  reason  with 
you.  I  have  tried  to  make  you  understand 
something  of  the  strength  of  my  love  for  the 
Signorina.  Do  you  think  that,  after  what  I 
have  risked,  after  what  I  have  suffered,  that  I 
shall  stand  aside,  and  see  another  man,  an 
alien,  take  her  from  me?  I  come  of  a  race, 
Signer,  who  are  not  used  to  see  the  women 
they  love  chosen  for  other  men's  wives.  Have 
you  ever  heard  of  Count  Hubert  di  Marioni, 
who,  with  seven  hundred  men,  carried  off  a 
princess  of  Austria  from  her  father's  court, 
and  brought  her  safely  through  Italy  here  to 
be  one  of  the  mothers  of  my  race  ?  It  was  five 
hundred  years  ago,  and,  among  the  ruins  of 
ancient  kingdoms,  the  Marionis  have  also  fallen 
in  estate.  But  the  old  spirit  lingers.  Lord  St. 
Maurice,  I  am  not  a  blood-thirsty  man.  I  do 
not  wish  your  life.  Go  back  to  your  country, 
and  choose  for  a  bride  one  of  her  own  daugh- 
ters. Give  up  all  thought  of  the  Signorina  di 
Cartuccio,  or,  as  surely  as  the  moon  yonder 
looks  down  upon  you  and  me,  I  shall  kill  you." 
Lord  St.  Maurice  threw  his  cigar  away  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  affair  was  going 
to  be  serious,  then. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     83 

"  You  must  forgive  me,  Signer,  if  I  do  not 
quite  follow  you,"  he  said  slowly.  "  The  cus- 
tom in  our  countries  doubtless  differs.  In 
England  it  is  the  lady  who  chooses,  and  it  is 
considered — pardon  me — ill-mannered  for  a 
rejected  suitor  to  have  anything  more  to  say." 

"  As  you  remark,  the  ideas  and  customs  of 
our  countries  differ,"  the  Sicilian  rejoined. 
"  Here  a  nobleman  of  my  descent  would  con- 
sider it  an  everlasting  shame  to  stand  quietly 
on  one  side,  and  see  the  woman  whom  he  wor- 
shiped become  the  bride  of  another  man,  and 
that  man  an  alien.  He  would  be  esteemed, 
and  justly,  a  coward.  Let  us  waste  no  more 
words,  Signer.  I  have  sought  you  to-night  to 
put  this  matter  plainly  before  you.  Unless  you 
leave  this  island,  and  give  up  your  pretensions 
to  the  hand  of  the  Signorina  Cartuccio,  you 
die.  You  have  climbed  for  the  last  time  to  the 
Villa  Fiolesse.  Swear  to  go  there  no  more; 
swear  to  leave  this  island  before  day  breaks 
to-morrow,  or  your  blood  shall  stain  its  shores. 
By  the  unbroken  and  sacred  oath  of  a  Marioni, 
I  swear  it !  " 

To  Lord  St.  Maurice,  the  Sicilian's  words 
and  gestures  seemed  only  grotesque.  He 
looked  at  him  a  little  contemptuously — a  thin, 
shrunken-up  figure,  ghastly  pale,  and  seeming 
all  the  thinner  on  account  of  his  somber  black 


84     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

attire.  What  a  husband  for  Adrienne!  How 
had  he  dared  to  love  so  magnificent  a  creature. 
The  very  idea  of  such  a  man  threatening  him 
seemed  absurd  to  Lord  St.  Maurice,  an  athlete 
of  public  school  and  college  renown,  with  mus- 
cles like  iron,  and  the  stature  of  a  guardsman. 
He  was  not  angry,  and  he  had  not  a  particle  of 
fear,  but  his  stock  of  patience  was  getting  ex- 
hausted. 

"  How  are  you  going  to  do  the  killing  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  Pardon  my  ignorance,  but  it  is  evi- 
dently one  of  the  customs  of  the  country  which 
has  not  been  explained  to  me.  How  do  you 
manage  it  ?  " 

"  I  should  kill  you  in  a  duel ! "  the  Sicilian 
answered.  "  It  would  be  easily  done." 

The  Englishman  burst  out  laughing.  It  was 
too  grotesque,  almost  like  a  huge  joke. 

"  Damn  you  and  your  duels !  "  he  said,  ris- 
ing to  his  feet,  and  towering  over  his  compan- 
ion. "  Look  here,  Mr.  di  Marioni,  I've  listened 
to  you  seriously  because  I  felt  heartily  sorry 
for  you;  but  I've  had  enough  of  it.  I  don't 
know  whether  you  understand  the  slang  of  my 
country.  If  you  do,  you'll  understand  what  I 
mean  when  I  tell  you  that  you've  been  talking 
'  bally  rot/  We  may  be  a  rough  lot,  we  Eng- 
lishmen, but  we're  not  cowards,  and  no  one  but 
a  coward  would  dream  of  giving  a  girl  up  for 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     85 

such  a  tissue  of  whimperings.  Be  a  man,  sir, 
and  get  over  it,  and  look  here — none  of  this 
sort  of  business !  " 

He  drew  the  dagger  from  his  breast  pocket, 
and  patted  it.  The  Sicilian  was  speechless  and 
livid  with  rage. 

"  You  are  a  coward !  "  he  hissed.  "  You 
shall  fight  with  me !  " 

"  That  I  won't,"  Lord  St.  Maurice  answered 
good-humoredly.  "  Just  take  my  advice.  Make 
up  your  mind  that  we  both  can't  have  her,  and 
she's  chosen  me,  and  come  and  give  me  your 
hand  like  a  man.  Think  it  over,  now,  before 
the  morning.  Good-night !  " 

The  Sicilian  sprang  up,  and  looked  rapidly 
around.  At  an  adjoining  table  he  recognized 
two  men,  and  touched  one  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Signers !  "  he  cried,  "  and  you,  Signor  le 
Capitaine,  pardon  me  if  I  ask  you  for  your 
hearing  for  an  instant.  This — gentleman  here 
has  insulted  me,  and  declines  to  give  me  satis- 
faction. I  have  called  him  a  coward  and  a  ras- 
cal, and  I  repeat  it!  His  name  is  Lord  St. 
Maurice.  If  he  forfeits  his  right  to  be  con- 
sidered a  gentleman,  I  demand  that  his  name 
be  struck  off  the  visitors'  club." 

The  three  men  had  risen  to  their  feet.  Two 
of  them  were  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood 
with  whom  Lord  St.  Maurice  had  a  bowing  ac- 


86     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

quaintance.  The  third  was  a  French  officer. 
They  looked  inquiringly  at  Lord  St.  Maurice. 

"  It's  quite  true,  gentlemen,"  he  said  with 
easy  self-possession.  "  He's  been  calling  me 
all  the  bad  names  under  the  sun,  and  I  have  de- 
clined to  give  him  what  he  calls  satisfaction. 
I  haven't  the  least  objection  to  your  knowing 
it." 

The  two  Palermitans  looked  at  one  another 
doubtfully.  The  officer,  giving  his  moustache 
a  twist,  stepped  forward  and  bowed. 

"  Might  we  inquire  your  reasons  for  declin- 
ing the  duel  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  Englishman  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered.  "  In  the  first 
place,  I  am  an  officer  in  the  service  of  Her 
Majesty  the  Queen,  and  duelling  is  strictly  for- 
bidden; in  the  second,  Signer  di  Marioni  is 
too  excited  to  know  what  he  is  talking  about." 

"  In  England,  Signer,  your  first  objection  is 
valid;  here,  it  is  scarcely  so.  As  to  the  latter, 
Monsieur  le  Count  seems  now  to  be  perfectly 
composed.  I  am  on  the  committee  of  the  club, 
and  I  fear  that  I  must  erase  your  name  if  you 
persist  in  your  refusal." 

"  I  don't  care  two  straws  about  your  club," 
Lord  St.  Maurice  answered  carelessly.  "  As 
for  the  duel,  I  decline  it,  once  and  for  all.  We 
Englishmen  have  a  code  of  honor  of  our  own, 


TO  WIN  THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  87 

and  it  is  more  to  us  than  the  custom  of  the 
countries  which  we  chance  to  visit.  I  wish  you 
good-night,  gentlemen." 

They  fell  back,  impressed  in  spite  of  them- 
selves by  the  coolness  and  hauteur  of  his  words. 
Suddenly,  with  the  swiftness  of  a  tiger-cat,  the 
Sicilian  leaped  forward  and  struck  the  Eng- 
lishman on  the  cheek. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  tell  us  all,  Signer,  how 
the  men  of  your  country  resent  an  insult  such 
as  that,"  he  cried. 

Every  one  turned  round  at  the  sound  of  the 
scuffle.  The  eyes  of  all  were  upon  the  Eng- 
lishman, who  stood  there,  head  and  shoulders 
above  all  the  crowd,  with  blazing  eyes  and  pale 
cheeks.  He  was  in  a  towering  passion,  but  his 
voice  never  shook  or  faltered. 

"  You  shall  see  for  yourself,  Signor ! "  he 
cried. 

The  Sicilian  struggled,  but  he  was  like  a 
child  in  the  Englishman's  arms.  He  had 
caught  him  up  in  a  vice-like  grasp,  and  held 
him  high  over  the  heads  of  the  astonished  on- 
lookers. For  a  moment  he  seemed  as  though 
he  were  going  to  throw  him  right  out  of  the 
restaurant  on  to  the  Marina,  but  at  the  last 
moment  he  changed  his  mind,  and  with  a  con- 
temptuous gesture  set  him  down  in  the  midst 
of  them,  breathless  and  choking. 


88  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

"  You  can  send  your  seconds  as  soon  as  you 
like,"  he  said  shortly.  "  Good-evening,  gen- 
tlemen." 

They  fell  back  before  him  like  sheep,  leaving 
a  broad  way  right  into  the  hotel,  through 
which  he  passed,  stern  and  self-possessed.  The 
Sicilian  watched  him  curiously,  with  twitching 
lips. 

'  There  goes  a  brave  man,"  whispered  one 
of  the  Palermitans  to  the  French  officer.  "  But 
his  days  are  numbered." 

The  Frenchman  gazed  at  the  Sicilian  and 
nodded.  There  was  death  in  his  face. 


CHAPTER   IX 

'Ah!  why  should  love,  like  men  in  drinking  songs, 
Spice  his  fair  banquet  with  the  dust  of  earth?' 

LORD  ST.  MAURICE  walked  straight  into  his 
room  without  perceiving  that  it  was  already 
occupied.  He  flung  his  hat  into  a  corner,  and 
himself  into  an  easy-chair,  with  an  exclama- 
tion which  was  decidedly  unparliamentary. 

"  D— n !  "  he  muttered. 

"  That's  a  lively  greeting,"  remarked  a  voice 
from  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

He  looked  quickly  up.  A  tall  figure  loomed 
out  of  the  shadows  of  the  apartment,  and 
presently  resolved  itself  into  the  figure  of  a 
man  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  a  huge 
meerschaum  pipe  in  his  mouth. 

"  Briscoe,  by  Jove !  How  long  have  you 
been  here  ?  " 

"  About  two  hours.  I've  been  resting.  Any- 
thing wrong  downstairs?  Thought  I  heard  a 
row." 

"  Strike  a  light,  there's  a  good  fellow,  and 
I'll  tell  you." 

The  new-comer  moved  to  the  window,  and 
pulled  aside  the  curtain. 


po     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"  Moon's  good  enough,"  he  remarked.  "  I 
hate  those  sickly  candles.  Great  Scott !  what's 
the  matter  with  you?  You  look  as  black  as 
thunder." 

Lord  St.  Maurice  told  him  the  whole  story. 
Martin  Briscoe  listened  without  remark  until 
he  had  finished.  Then  he  pushed  the  tobacco 
firmly  down  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  and  re- 
lit it,  smoking  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Maurice,"  he  said  at 
length,  "  of  all  the  blood-thirsty  little  devils 
that  ever  were  hatched,  that  Marioni  takes  the 
cake.  Why,  I'm  going  to  fight  him  myself  to- 
morrow morning." 

'  What !  "  cried  St.  Maurice,  starting  up  in 
his  chair. 

"  Fact,  I  assure  you.  Margharita  told  me 
that  he  was  going  to  be  troublesome,  but  I'd 
no  idea  that  he  was  such  a  little  spitfire.  I 
landed  two  hours  ago,  and  came  straight  here. 
I'd  scarcely  had  a  tub,  and  made  myself  decent, 
when  in  the  little  beggar  walks,  and  kicks  up 
no  end  of  a  row.  I  listened  for  a  bit,  and  then 
told  him  to  go  to  hell.  In  five  minutes  he'd 
got  the  whole  thing  arranged,  seconds  and  all. 
To-morrow  morning,  at  6.30,  on  the  sands,  '11 
see  me  a  dead  man,  if  he  can  use  his  tools  as 
well  as  he  can  talk,  little  beast." 

"  Briscoe,  this  is  a  horrible  mess,"  Lord  St. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     91 

Maurice  declared  emphatically.  "  I  don't  know 
what  you  think  of  duels ;  I  hate  them." 

"  It  isn't  duels  I  hate,  it's  the  being  spitted," 
Briscoe  answered  gloomily.  "  I  can  fence  a 
bit,  but  it's  always  been  with  foils.  I'm  not 
used  to  swords,  and  I  expect  that  fellow  is  a 
regular  '  don  '  at  it.  There's  a  sort  of  corpse- 
like  look  about  him,  anyway.  Got  any  'baccy, 
St.  Maurice?  Mine's  so  beastly  dry." 

"  Help  yourself,  old  fellow.  Who  the  devil's 
that?" 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  one  of 
the  servants  of  the  hotel  appeared.  With  some 
difficulty,  for  he  was  a  native,  and  spoke  French 
execrably,  he  explained  that  there  were  some 
gentlemen  below  who  desired  to  speak  with 
Lord  St.  Maurice. 

The  two  men  exchanged  glances. 

"  My  time  has  come,  you  see,"  Lord  St. 
Maurice  remarked  grimly.  "  Wait  for  me." 

In  the  deserted  salle  a  manger  the  French 
officer  and  one  of  the  Palermitan  gentlemen 
were  talking  together.  The  latter  approached 
Lord  St.  Maurice  and  drew  him  on  one  side. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  you  may  be  situated 
here  for  friends,  Lord  St.  Maurice,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  felt  that  you  would  only  consider  it 
courteous  of  me  to  offer  my  services  to  you  in 
case  you  are  without  a  second  in  this  affair. 


92     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

My  father  wrote  to  me  from  Rome  of  your 
visit  here,  and  I  went  to  your  yacht  to  call  this 
afternoon.  My  name  is  Pruccio — Signor  Adri- 
ano  Pruccio." 

Lord  Maurice  bowed. 

"  I  remember  your  father  quite  well,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  am  glad  to  commence  our  ac- 
quaintance by  accepting  the  favor  you  offer. 
Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  make  all  the  neces- 
sary arrangements  with  the  Count  Marioni's 
second,  and  let  me  know  the  result." 

The  Palermitan  withdrew  into  a  corner  of 
the  room  with  the  Frenchman,  and  a  few  min- 
utes' whispered  conversation  took  place  be- 
tween them.  Then  he  rejoined  Lord  St.  Mau- 
rice, who  was  standing  at  the  window. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Count  Marioni, 
who  is  the  insulted  person  in  this  affair,  chooses 
swords." 

Lord  St.  Maurice  nodded. 

"When,  and  where?" 

"  At  a  place  below  the  cliffs  to  which  I  shall 
conduct  you  at  six  o'clock  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"  At  six  o'clock !  But  he  has  another  affair 
on  at  half-past." 

"  So  I  understand,"  the  Palermitan  an- 
swered, "  I  pointed  out  that  we  should  prefer 
an  interval  of  at  least  a  day;  but  Monsieur  le 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     93 

Capitaine  there  explains  that  the  Count  de 
Marioni,  having  dispensed  with  his  incognito, 
is  hourly  in  danger  of  arrest  on  account  of 
some  political  trouble,  and  is  therefore  anxious 
to  have  both  affairs  settled.  I  have  agreed, 
therefore,  with  your  permission,  to  waive  all 
etiquette  in  the  matter." 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  makes  any  difference 
to  me,"  Lord  St.  Maurice  answered.  "  To- 
night, by  moonlight,  would  have  suited  me 
best." 

Signor  Pruccio  laughed. 

"  You  are  in  a  great  hurry,  Lord  St.  Mau- 
rice. May  I  ask  whether  you  are  proficient 
with  your  weapon  ?  " 

"  I  never  fenced  since  I  was  at  school,"  he 
answered  coolly.  "  I  suppose  Marioni  is  dan- 
gerous ?  " 

The  Palermitan  looked  very  grave.  He  be- 
gan to  see  that  it  would  be  more  like  a  murder 
than  a  duel. 

"  Count  Marioni  is  one  of  the  finest  swords- 
men in  Italy,"  he  answered.  "  Perhaps,  if  I 
were  to  explain  that  you  are  not  accustomed  to 
the  rapier " 

"  Pray  don't,"  Lord  St.  Maurice  interrupt- 
ed. "  He'd  be  just  as  likely  to  shoot  me." 

"  That  is  true,"  Signor  Pruccio  assented. 
"  I  have  seen  him  do  wonderful  things  with  the 


94     TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

pistol.  If  you  can  spare  an  hour  or  two, 
Signor,  I  should  be  happy  to  give  you  a  little 
advice  as  to  the  management  of  your  weapon. 
There  is  a  large  room  at  the  top  of  my  house 
where  we  fence." 

Lord  St.  Maurice  shook  his  head. 

'  Thank  you,  I'll  take  my  chance,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  At  five  o'clock,  Signor.  Will  you  not  come 
to  my  house  for  the  night  ?  " 

"  I'm  much  obliged,  but  I  must  write  some 
letters.  Good-night,  Signor." 

"  Good-night,  Signor.    Sleep  well !  " 

The  golden  light  died  out  of  the  waning 
moon,  and  afar  off  in  the  east  a  long  line  of  red 
clouds  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  sea.  The  air 
was  still  and  calm  and  breathless.  Even  the 
sea  seemed  hushed  as  the  yellow  stars  faded 
from  the  sky.  Behind  that  bank  of  glowing 
clouds  was  the  promise  of  the  richer  and  fuller 
day.  Amber  was  becoming  golden,  and  pink 
purple,  till  through  a  very  rainbow  of  color- 
ing the  sun's  first  rays  shot  across  the  chilled 
waters. 

Lord  St.  Maurice  had  fallen  asleep,  with  his 
head  resting  upon  his  arms,  close  to  the  open 
window.  By  his  side,  with  the  ink  scarcely 
dry  upon  either,  were  his  will,  and  his  farewell 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     95 

letter  to  Adrienne.  No  one  but  himself  would 
ever  know  the  agony,  the  hopeless  grief,  which 
had  rent  his  heart,  as  word  after  word,  sen- 
tence after  sentence  of  passionate  leave-taking 
had  found  their  way  on  to  those  closely-written 
sheets  of  paper.  But  it  was  over  now — over 
and  done  with.  When  some  faint  sound  from 
below,  or  a  breath  of  the  morning  breeze  from 
the  bosom  of  the  sea  awoke  him,  and  he  com- 
menced making  a  few  preparations  for  the 
start,  he  was  surprised  to  find  how  calm  he 
was.  The  passion  of  his  grief  had  spent  itself. 
He  thought  of  those  hours  before  sleep  had 
fallen  upon  him  with  horror,  but  they  seemed 
to  him  very  far  away.  He  was  face  to  face 
with  death,  but  he  felt  only  that  he  was  about 
to  make  a  journey  into  an  undiscovered  land. 
His  imagination  was  dulled.  He  remembered 
only  that  he  was  going  out  to  meet  death,  and 
it  behoved  him  to  meet  it  as  an  honorable  Eng- 
lish gentleman. 

He  plunged  his  head  into  a  basin  of  cold 
water  and  made  a  careful  toilette,  not  forget- 
ting even  the  button-hole  which  Adrienne  had 
fetched  for  him  with  her  own  fingers  on  the 
evening  before.  Then  he  quietly  left  the  hotel, 
and  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the  Marina 
until  Signor  Pruccio  arrived. 


CHAPTER   X 

A   MARIONl's   OATH 

Two  men  stood  facing  one  another  on  a  nar- 
row belt  of  sand,  stripped  to  the  shirt,  and  with 
rapiers  in  their  hands.  One  was  the  Sicilian, 
Leonardo  di  Marioni,  the  other  the  English- 
man, Lord  St.  Maurice.  Their  attitude  spoke 
for  itself.  They  were  about  to  fight  for  each 
other's  life. 

It  was  a  fair  spot  which  their  two  seconds 
had  chosen  to  stain  with  bloodshed.  Close  al- 
most to  their  feet,  the  blue  waters  of  the  Med- 
iterranean, glistening  in  the  early  morning 
sunlight,  broke  in  tiny,  rippling  waves  upon 
the  firm  white  sand.  Inland  was  a  semi-circle 
of  steep  cliffs,  at  the  base  of  which  there  were 
great  bowlders  of  rock,  fern-covered  and  with 
hyacinths  of  many  colors  growing  out  of  the 
crevices,  and  lending  a  sweet  fragrance  to  the 
fresh  morning  air.  It  was  a  spot  shut  off  from 
the  world,  for  the  towering  cliffs  ran  out  into 
the  sea  on  either  side,  completely  enclosing  the 
little  cove.  There  was  only  one  possible  ap- 
proach to  it,  save  by  boat,  and  that  a  difficult 
and  tedious  one,  and,  looking  upward  from 


97 

the  shore,  hard  to  discover.  But  on  the 
northward  side  the  cliffs  suddenly  dropped,  and 
in  the  cleft  was  a  thick  plantation  of  aloes, 
through  which  a  winding  path  led  down  to  the 
beach. 

Perhaps  of  all  the  little  group  gathered  down 
there  to  witness  and  take  part  in  the  coming 
tragedy,  Signer  Pruccio,  Lord  St.  Maurice's 
second,  was  looking  the  most  disturbed  and 
anxious.  His  man,  he  knew,  must  fall,  and  an 
ugly  sickening  dread  was  in  his  heart.  It  was 
so  like  a  murder.  He  pictured  to  himself  that 
fair  boyish  face — and  in  the  clear  morning  sun- 
light the  young  Englishman's  face  showed 
marvelously  few  signs  of  the  night  of  agony 
through  which  he  had  passed — ghastly  and 
livid,  with  the  stamp  of  death  upon  the  fore- 
head, and  the  deep  blue  eyes  glazed  and  dull. 
It  was  an  awful  thing,  yet  what  could  he  do? 
What  hope  was  there?  Leonardo  di  Marioni 
he  knew  to  be  a  famous  swordsman;  Lord  St. 
Maurice  had  never  fenced  since  he  had  left 
Eton,  and  scarcely  remembered  the  positions. 
It  was  doubtful  even  whether  he  had  ever  held 
a  rapier.  But  what  Signor  Pruccio  feared 
most  was  the  pale,  unflinching  hate  in  the  Sicil- 
ian's white  face.  He  loathed  it,  and  yet  it  fas- 
cinated him.  He  knew,  alas!  how  easily,  by 
one  swift  turn  of  the  wrist,  he  would  be  able 


98  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

to  pass  his  sword  through  the  Englishman's 
body,  mocking  at  his  unskilled  defense.  He 
fancied  that  he  could  see  the  arms  thrown  up 
to  heaven,  the  fixed,  wild  eyes,  the  red  blood 
spurting  out  from  the  wound  and  staining  the 
virgin  earth;  almost  he  fancied  that  he  could 
hear  the  death-cry  break  from  those  agonized 
white  lips.  Horrible  effort  of  the  imagination ! 
What  evil  chance  had  made  him  offer  his  ser- 
vices to  this  young  English  lord,  and  dragged 
him  into  assisting  at  a  duel  which  could  be  but 
a  farce — worse  than  a  farce,  a  murder?  He 
would  have  given  half  his  fortune  for  an  earth- 
quake to  have  come  and  swallowed  up  that 
merciless  Sicilian. 

A  few  yards  away  Martin  Briscoe  was 
standing  with  his  second.  He  and  Lord  St. 
Maurice,  at  this  tragical  moment  of  their  lives, 
had  been  nearer  a  quarrel  than  ever  before. 
Briscoe,  with  some  justice,  had  claimed  pri- 
ority with  the  Sicilian,  and  had  maintained  his 
right  in  the  face  of  Lord  St.  Maurice's  opposi- 
tion. But  the  Sicilian  had  stepped  in,  and  in- 
sisted upon  his  privilege  to  decide  for  himself 
whom  he  should  first  meet.  The  times  had 
been  distinctly  stated,  he  reminded  them,  six 
o'clock  by  Lord  St.  Maurice's  second,  and  half- 
past  six  by  Mr.  Briscoe's.  He  had  arranged 
it  so  with  a  definite  purpose,  and  he  claimed 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT  99 

that  it  should  be  carried  out.  There  was  no 
appeal  from  his  decision.  He  was  in  the  right, 
and  Martin  Briscoe,  with  a  dull  red  glow  of 
anger  in  his  homely  rugged  cheeks,  had  been 
forced  to  retire  and  become  a  most  unwilling 
spectator  of  what  he  feared  could  only  be  a 
butchery. 

Signer  Pruccio  had  delayed  the  duel  as  long 
as  he  could,  under  the  pretext  of  waiting  for 
the  doctor  who  had  been  instructed  to  follow 
them,  but  who  had  not  yet  arrived.  Twice  the 
Sicilian  had  urged  that  they  should  commence, 
and  each  time  he  had  pleaded  that  they  might 
wait  for  a  few  minutes  longer.  To  enter  upon 
a  duel  a  I'outrance,  save  in  the  presence  of  a 
medical  man,  was  a  thing  unheard  of,  he  de- 
clared. But  at  last  this  respite  was  exhausted, 
for  the  opposing  second,  with  a  pleasant  smile, 
had  remarked  that  he  himself  was  skilled  in 
surgery,  and  would  be  happy  to  officiate  should 
any  necessity  arise.  There  was  no  longer  any 
excuse.  Lord  St.  Maurice  himself  insisted 
upon  the  signal  being  given.  Sadly  therefore 
he  prepared  to  give  it.  Already  both  men  had 
fallen  into  position.  The  word  trembled  upon 
his  lips. 

A  flock  of  sea-birds  flew  screaming  over 
their  heads,  and  he  waited  a  moment  until  they 
should  have  passed.  Then  he  raised  his  hand. 


loo    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"Stop!" 

The  cry  was  a  woman's.  They  all  looked 
round.  Only  a  few  yards  away  from  them 
stood  Adrienne,  her  fair  hair  streaming  loose 
in  the  morning  breeze,  and  her  gown  torn  and 
soiled.  She  had  just  issued  from  the  sloping 
aloe  plantation,  and  was  trembling  in  every 
limb  from  the  speed  of  her  descent. 

The  cloud  on  the  Sicilian's  face  grew  black 
as  night. 

"  This  is  no  sight  for  you  to  look  upon !  "  he 
cried,  between  his  teeth.  "  You  will  not  save 
your  lover  by  waiting.  You  had  better  go,  or 
I  will  kill  him  before  your  eyes !  " 

She  walked  calmly  between  them,  and  looked 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Lord  St.  Maurice,  I  need  not  ask  you,  I 
know!  This  duel  is  not  of  your  seeking?  " 

"  It  is  not ! "  he  answered,  lowering  his 
sword.  "  This  fellow  insulted  me,  and  I  pun- 
ished him  publicly  in  the  restaurant  of  the  Ho- 
tel de  T Europe  last  night.  In  my  opinion,  that 
squared  matters,  but  he  demanded  satisfaction, 
and  from  his  point  of  view,  I  suppose  he  has 
a  right  to  it.  I  am  quite  ready  to  give  it  to 
him." 

The  seconds  had  fallen  back.  They  three 
were  alone.  She  went  up  to  the  Sicilian  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          101 

"  Leonardo,  we  have  been  friends,  have  we 
not?  Why  should  you  seek  to  do  that  which 
will  make  us  enemies  for  ever  ?  I  have  broken 
no  faith  with  you ;  I  never  gave  you  one  word 
of  hope.  I  never  loved  you ;  I  never  could  have 
loved  you!  Why  should  you  seek  to  murder 
the  man  whom  I  do  love,  and  make  me  miser- 
able for  ever  ?  " 

His  face  was  ghastly,  but  he  showed  no  sign 
of  being  moved  by  her  words. 

"  Bah !  You  talk  as  you  feel — just  now !  " 
he  said  quickly.  "  I  tell  you  that  I  do  not  be- 
lieve one  word.  If  he  had  not  come  between 
us,  you  would  have  been  mine  some  day.  Love 
like  mine  would  have  conquered  in  the  end. 
Away !  away ! "  he  cried,  pushing  her  back  in 
growing  excitement,  and  stamping  on  the 
ground  with  his  feet.  "  The  sight  of  you  only 
maddens  me,  and  nerves  my  arm  to  kill! 
Though  you  beg  on  your  knees  for  his  life,  that 
man  shall  die !  " 

"  I  shall  not  beg  upon  my  knees,"  she  an- 
swered proudly.  "  Yet,  Leonardo,  for  your 
own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  your  own  happiness, 
I  bid  you  once  more  consider.  You  would 
stain  your  hand  with  the  blood  of  the  man  who 
is  more  to  me  than  you  can  ever  be.  Is  this 
what  you  call  love  ?  Leonardo,  beware !  I  am 
not  a  woman  to  be  lightly  robbed  of  what  is 


102          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

dear  to  me.  Put  up  your  sword,  or  you  will 
repent  it  to  your  dying  day." 

Her  voice  rang  out  clear  and  threatening 
upon  the  morning  stillness,  and  her  eyes  were 
flashing  with  anger.  It  was  a  wonderful  tab- 
leau which  had  grouped  itself  upon  that  little 
strip  of  sand. 

The  Sicilian  was  unmoved.  The  sight  of  the 
woman  he  loved  championing  his  foe  seemed  to 
madden  him. 

"  Out  of  my  way ! "  he  cried,  grasping  his 
sword  firmly.  "  Lord  St.  Maurice,  are  you  not 
weary  of  skulking  behind  a  woman's  petticoats? 
On  guard !  I  say.  On  guard !  " 

She  suddenly  flung  her  hands  above  her 
head,  and  there  was  what  seemed  to  be  a 
miraculous  increase  in  the  little  group.  Three 
men  in  plain,  dark  clothes  sprang  from  behind 
a  gigantic  bowlder,  and,  in  an  instant,  the 
Sicilian  was  seized  from  behind. 

He  looked  around  at  his  captors,  pale  and 
furious.  They  were  strangers  to  him.  As  yet, 
he  did  not  realize  what  had  happened. 

"  What  does  this  mean?  "  he  cried  furiously. 
"  Who  dares  to  lay  hands  upon  me  ?  We  are 
on  free  ground !  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Leonardo,  you  have  brought  this  upon 
yourself,"  she  said,  firmly  but  compassionately. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          103 

"  You  plotted  to  murder  the  man  I  love.  I 
warned  you  that,  to  protect  him,  there  was 
nothing  which  I  would  not  dare.  Only  a  mo- 
ment ago  I  gave  you  another  chance.  One 
word  from  you  and  I  would  have  thrown  these 
papers  into  the  sea,"  producing  a  packet  from 
her  bosom,  "  rather  than  have  placed  them 
where  I  do  now !  " 

A  fourth  man  had  strolled  out  of  the  aloe 
grove,  smoking  a  long  cigarette.  Into  his 
hands  Adrienne  had  placed  the  little  packet 
of  letters,  which  he  accepted  with  a  low 
bow. 

Even  now  the  Sicilian  felt  bewildered;  but 
as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  fourth  man  he  started 
and  trembled  violently,  gazing  at  him  as  though 
fascinated. 

"  I  do  not  understand !  "  he  faltered. 

The  fourth  man  removed  his  cigarette  from 
his  teeth  and  produced  a  paper. 

"  Permit  me  to  explain,"  he  said  politely. 
"  I  have  here  a  warrant  for  your  arrest,  Count 
di  Marioni,  alias  Leonardo  di  Cortegi,  on  two 
counts :  first,  that  you,  being  an  exile,  have  re- 
turned to  Italian  soil;  and  secondly,  on  a  fur- 
ther and  separate  charge  of  conspiracy  against 
the  Italian  Government,  in  collusion  with  a  se- 
cret society,  calling  themselves  '  Members  of 
the  Order  of  the  White  Hyacinth/  The  proofs 


104          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

of  the  latter  conspiracy,  which  were  wanting 
at  your  first  trial,  have  now  been  furnished." 

He  touched  the  little  roll  of  papers  which  he 
had  just  received,  and,  with  a  low  bow,  fell 
back.  There  was  an  ominous  silence. 

At  the  mention  of  his  first  name  a  deathlike 
pallor  had  swept  in  upon  the  Sicilian's  face. 
His  manner  suddenly  became  quite  quiet  and 
free  from  excitement.  But  there  was  a  look 
in  his  dark  eyes  more  awful  than  had  been  his 
previous  fury. 

"  You  have  done  a  brave  thing  indeed,  Ad- 
rienne !  "  he  said  slowly.  "  You  have  saved 
your  lover.  You  have  betrayed  the  man  who 
would  have  given  his  life  to  serve  you.  Listen 
to  me !  As  I  loved  you  before  so  do  I  hate  you 
now!  As  my  love  for  you  in  the  past  has  gov- 
erned my  life,  and  brought  me  always  to  your 
side,  so  in  the  days  to  come  shall  my  undying 
hate  for  you  and  for  that  man  shape  my  actions 
and  mold  my  life,  and  bring  me  over  sea  and 
land  to  the  farthest  corners  of  the  earth  to 
wreak  my  vengeance  upon  you.  Be  it  ten,  or 
twenty,  or  thirty  years,  they  keep  me  rotting  in 
their  prisons,  the  time  will  come  when  I  shall 
be  free  again ;  and  then,  beware !  Search  your 
memory  for  the  legends  of  our  race!  Was 
ever  a  hate  forgotten,  or  an  oath  broken? 
Hear  me  swear,"  he  cried,  raising  his  clasped 


TO  WIN   THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  105 

hands  above  his  head  with  a  sudden  passionate 
gesture,  "  by  the  sun,  and  the  sky,  and  the  sea, 
and  the  earth,  I  swear  that,  as  they  continue 
unchanged  and  unchanging,  so  shall  my  hate 
for  you  remain !  Ah !  you  can  take  your  lover's 
hand,  traitress,  and  think  to  find  protection 
there.  But  in  your  heart  I  read  your  fear.  The 
day  shall  come  when  you  shall  kneel  at  my 
feet  for  mercy,  and  there  shall  be  no  mercy. 
Gentlemen,  my  sword.  I  am  at  your  service." 


CHAPTER   XI 

A   MEETING   OF   THE   ORDER 

A  MAN  in  a  fur-lined  overcoat — thin, 
shrunken,  and  worn — stood  on  the  pavement 
in  a  little  street  in  Camberwell,  looking  about 
him  in  evident  disgust.  Before  him  stretched 
a  long  row  of  six-roomed  houses,  smoke-be- 
grimed, hideously  similar,  hideously  common- 
place. The  street  was  empty  save  for  the  four- 
wheeled  cab  from  which  he  had  just  alighted, 
and  which  was  now  vanishing  in  a  slight  fog, 
a  milkman  and  a  greengrocer's  boy  in  amicable 
converse,  and  a  few  dirty  children  playing  in 
the  gutter.  Nothing  could  be  more  depressing, 
or  more  calculated  to  unfavorably  impress  a 
stranger  from  a  southern  land  visiting  the 
great  city  for  the  first  time.  It  was  a  picture 
of  suburban  desolation,  the  home  of  poverty- 
stricken  philistinism,  uncaring  and  uncared  for. 
In  Swinburne's  words,  though  with  a  different 
meaning,  one  saw  there,  without  the  neces- 
sity of  further  travel,  "  a  land  that  was  lonelier 
than  ruin." 

The  little  old  man  who  had  alighted  from 
the  cab,  stood  for  a  moment  or  two  looking 

106 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    107 

helplessly  around,  half  surprised  at  what  he 
saw,  half  disgusted.  Such  monotonous  and 
undeviating  ugliness  was  a  thing  which  he  had 
never  dreamed  of — certainly  he  had  never  en- 
countered anything  like  it.  Was  it  possible 
that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  the  address? 
He  drew  a  scrap  of  paper  from  his  pocket  and 
consulted  it  again.  The  address  was  written 
there  plainly  enough — 85,  Eden  Street,  Cam- 
berwell.  He  was  certainly  in  Eden  Street, 
Camberwell,  and  the  figures  on  the  gate-post 
opposite  him,  worn  and  black  with  dirt,  were 
unmistakably  an  eight  and  a  five.  With  a  little 
shudder  he  pushed  open  the  gate,  and  walked 
through  the  narrow  strip  of  untidy  garden  to 
the  front  door.  The  bell  he  found  broken  and 
useless,  so  he  knocked  softly  at  first,  and  then 
louder  against  the  worn  panels. 

It  was  some  time  before  an  answer  came. 
Several  of  the  neighbors  appeared  upon  their 
doorsteps,  and  took  bold  and  somewhat  ribald 
stock  of  the  visitor.  A  young  person  of  eighty- 
one,  who  was  considered  the  wit  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, made  several  very  audible  remarks, 
which  produced  a  chorus  of  gigglings,  on  the 
subject  of  his  clothes  and  foreign  appearance. 
But  he  stood  there  as  though  he  had  been 
deaf,  his  hands  thrust  down  into  the  loose  pock- 
ets of  his  overcoat,  and  his  deep-sunken  eyes 


io8    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

fixed  wistfully  but  not  impatiently  upon  the 
closed  door.  He  was  a  mute  picture  of  resig- 
nation. 

At  last,  after  his  third  summons,  the  door 
was  slowly  and  cautiously  opened,  and  the  as- 
tonished visitor  beheld,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  a  London  maid-of-all-work.  The  aston- 
ishment seemed  perfectly  mutual.  He,  with  his 
parchment  dried  face,  white  hair  and  eye- 
brows, and  piercing  black  eyes  only  a  little 
dimmed  by  time,  muffled  up  to  the  throat  in 
furs,  and  unmistakably  a  foreigner,  was  as 
strange  to  her  as  her  appearance  was  to  him. 
He  looked  at  her  black  hands,  her  face  be- 
smeared with  dirt,  and  with  her  uncombed  hair 
hanging  loose  around  it,  at  the  tattered  and 
soiled  print  gown  looped  up  on  one  side  and 
held  together  on  the  other  by  pins,  and  at  the 
white-stockinged  feet  showing  through  the 
holes  in  her  boots.  What  an  object  it  was !  It 
was  fortunate  for  him  that  the  twilight  and  fog 
concealed,  partially  at  any  rate,  the  disgust  in 
his  face. 

"  Is — Mr.  Bartlezzi  in  ?  "  he  inquired,  as 
soon  as  he  could  find  words  to  speak  at  all. 

"  Lawk-a-mussy !  I  dunno,"  the  girl  an- 
swered in  blank  bewilderment.  "  He  don't 
have  no  visitors,  he  don't.  You  ain't  taxes, 
are  you  ?  " 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          109 

"  No ! "  he  answered,  somewhat  at  a  ven- 
ture, for  he  did  not  catch  her  meaning. 

"  Nor  water  rate  ?  No,  you  ain't  the  water 
rate,"  she  continued,  meditatively.  "  I  knows 
him.  He  wears  a  brown  billycock  and  glasses, 
'e  does,  and  I  see  him  walking  with  Mary  Ann 
Stubbins  on  a  Sunday." 

He  admitted  doubtfully  that  she  was  correct. 
He  was  not  the  water  rate. 

It  began  to  dawn  upon  her  that  it  would  be 
safe  to  admit  him  into  the  house. 

"  Just  yer  come  hinside,  will  yer,"  she  said. 
"  I  dunno  who  yer  are,  but  I  guess  you  ain't 
nothink  to  be  afraid  of.  Come  hinside." 

She  opened  the  door  and  admitted  him  into 
a  dark,  narrow  passage.  He  had  to  squeeze 
himself  against  the  wall  to  allow  her  to  pass 
him.  Then  she  surveyed  him  critically  again, 
with  her  arms  akimbo  and  her  head  a  little  on 
one  side. 

"  I  reckon  you've  got  a  name,"  she  surmised. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  You  can  tell  Mr.  Bartlezzi  that  a  gentle- 
man from  abroad  desires  to  speak  with  him," 
he  answered.  "  My  name  is  immaterial.  Will 
you  accept  this  ?  "  he  added,  holding  out  a  half- 
crown  timidly  toward  her. 

She  grabbed  it  from  him,  and  turned  it  over 
incredulously  in  the  semi-darkness.  There  was 


no    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

no  deception  about  it;  it  was  indeed  a  half- 
crown — the  first  she  had  ever  been  given  in 
her  life. 

She  dropped  a  rude  sort  of  curtsey,  and, 
opening  the  door  of  a  room,  half  ushered,  half 
pushed  him  in.  Then  she  went  to  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  the  coin  tightly  clinched  in  her  hand, 
and  he  heard  her  call  out 

"  Master !  There's  a  gent  here  from  furrin 
parts  has  wants  you,  which  'is  name  his  imma- 
terial. 'E's  in  the  parlor." 

There  was  a  growl  in  reply,  and  then  silence. 
The  handmaiden,  her  duty  discharged,  shuffled 
off  to  the  lower  regions.  The  visitor  was  left 
alone. 

He  looked  around  him  in  deep  and  increas- 
ing disgust.  The  walls  of  the  little  room  into 
which  he  had  been  shown  were  bare,  save  for 
a  few  cheap  chromos  and  glaring  oleographs 
of  the  sort  distributed  by  grocers  and  petty 
tradespeople  at  Christmas.  A  cracked  looking- 
glass,  with  a  dirty  gilt  frame,  tottered  upon  the 
mantelpiece.  The  furniture  was  scanty,  and 
of  the  public-house  pattern,  and  there  was  a 
strong  nauseous  odor  of  stale  tobacco  smoke 
and  beer.  A  small  piano  stood  in  one  corner, 
the  cheapest  of  its  kind,  and  maintaining  an 
upright  position  only  by  means  of  numerous 
props.  One  leg  tilted  in  the  air  was  supported 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  III 

by  two  old  and  coverless  volumes  of  a  novel, 
and  another  was  casterless.  The  carpet  was 
worn  into  shreds,  and  there  was  no  attempt  to 
conceal  or  mend  the  huge  ravages  which  time 
had  made  in  it.  The  ceiling  was  cracked  and 
black  with  smoke,  and  the  faded  paper  was 
hanging  down  from  the  top  of  the  wall.  There 
was  not  a  single  article  or  spot  in  the  room  on 
which  the  eye  could  rest  with  pleasure.  It  was 
an  interior  which  matched  the  exterior.  Noth- 
ing worse  could  be  said  about  it. 

The  visitor  took  it  all  in,  and  raising  his 
hand  to  his  head  closed  his  eyes.  Ah!  what 
a  relief  it  was  to  blot  it  all  out  of  sight,  if  only 
for  a  moment.  He  had  known  evil  times,  but 
at  their  worst,  such  surroundings  as  these  he 
had  never  met  with.  A  strange  nervousness 
was  creeping  slowly  over  him,  the  presage  of 
disappointment.  He  dropped  his  hands,  and 
walked  restlessly  up  and  down,  striving  to  ban- 
ish his  fears.  Might  not  all  this  be  necessary 
— a  form  of  disguise — a  clever  mode  of  con- 
cealment? Poverty  alone  could  not  have 
brought  things  to  this  strait.  Poverty !  There 
had  been  no  poverty  in  his  day.  Yet  he  was 
full  of  forebodings.  He  remembered  the  won- 
der, the  evasions,  almost  the  pity  with  which 
his  first  inquiries  in  Rome  had  been  met. 
He  could  not  expect  to  find  things  exactly  the 


112          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

same.  Twenty  years  is  a  long  time,  and  there 
must  be  many  changes.  Why  had  he  not 
stayed  in  Rome  a  little  longer,  and  learned 
more.  He  could  easily  have  obtained  the 
knowledge  which  he  desired  there.  It  would 
have  been  wiser,  surely  it  would  have  been 
wiser. 

The  door  opened  in  the  midst  of  his  medi- 
tations, and  he  looked  eagerly  up.  Again  his 
heart  fell.  It  was  not  such  a  man  as  this  that 
he  had  expected  to  see.  Ah !  what  a  day  of  dis- 
appointments it  was ! 

The  figure  which,  after  a  moment's  pause  in 
the  doorway,  now  advanced  somewhat  hesitat- 
ingly toward  him,  was  that  of  a  man  a  little 
past  middle  age.  He  was  of  medium  height, 
but  stout  even  to  corpulency,  and  his  cheeks 
were  fat  and  puffy.  His  hair  was  gray,  and 
his  thick,  stubbly  mustaches,  which  had  evi- 
dently once  been  black,  were  also  changing 
color.  His  dark,  shiny  coat  was  ridiculously 
short  for  him,  and  his  trousers  terminated 
above  his  ankles.  He  wore  no  necktie,  and  his 
collar  was  ragged  and  soiled.  In  short,  his 
whole  appearance  was  not  only  untidy  but 
dirty.  His  gait,  too,  was  slouching  and  undig- 
nified. 

"  You  wished  to  speak  to  me,"  he  said  in  a 
thick  tone  and  with  a  foreign  accent.  "  My 


H3 

name  is  Bartlezzi — Signer  Alfonso  Bart- 
lezzi." 

"  Yes,  I  wished  to  speak  with  you." 

Signer  Bartlezzi  began  to  feel  uncomfort- 
able under  his  visitor's  fixed  gaze.  Why 
should  he  look  at  him  so  intently?  He  had 
never  set  eyes  upon  him  before — and  what  an 
odd,  shrunken  little  figure  it  was.  He  coughed 
and  shifted  his  position. 

"  Ah !  yes.  I  am  ready,  as  you  see.  Is  it 
anything  to  do  with  my  profession  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  your  profession  is." 

Signor  Bartlezzi  made  an  effort  to  draw 
himself  up,  and  assumed  a  military  air. 

"  I  am  a  master  of  fencing,"  he  announced, 
"  also  a  professor  of  Italian — Professor  Al- 
fonso Bartlezzi,  at  your  service.  I  am  fairly 
well-known  in  this  neighborhood.  If  you  have 
pupils  to  recommend,  sir,  or  if  you  are  think- 
ing of  taking  lessons  yourself,  I  should  be 
most  happy.  My  services  are  sometimes  made 
use  of  as  interpreter,  both  in  the  police  court 
and  privately.  I  should  be  happy  to  serve  you 
in  that  capacity,  sir." 

Signor  Bartlezzi,  having  declared  himself, 
folded  his  arms  and  waited.  He  felt  certain 
that  his  visitor  must  now  divulge  his  name  and 
mission.  That,  however,  he  seemed  in  no 
hurry  to  do. 


114          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

"  You  are  an  Italian  ?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

"  May  I  ask,  have  you  still  correspondents 
or  friends  in  that  country?  " 

The  Professor  was  a  little  uneasy.  He 
looked  steadfastly  at  his  visitor  for  a  moment, 
however,  and  seemed  to  regain  his  composure. 

"  I  have  neither,"  he  answered  sorrowfully. 
"  The  friends  of  former  days  are  silent ;  they 
have  forgotten  me." 

"  You  have  lived  in  England  for  long, 
then?" 

"  Since  I  was  a  boy,  sir." 

"  And  you  are  content  ?  " 

The  Professor  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
looked  round.  The  gesture  was  significant. 

"  Scarcely  so,"  he  answered.  "  But  what 
would  you  have  ?  May  I  now  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion, sir  ?  "  he  continued. 

"  Yes." 

"Your  name?" 

His  visitor  looked  around  him  mournfully. 

"  The  day  for  secrecy  is  past,  I  suppose,"  he 
said  sadly.  "  I  am  the  Count  Leonardo  di 
Marioni." 

"  What!  "  shrieked  the  Professor. 

"  Count  Leonardo  di  Marioni — that  is  my 
name.  I  am  better  known  as  Signer  di  Cor- 
tegi,  perhaps,  in  the  history  of  our  society." 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          115 

"My  God!" 

If  a  thunderbolt  had  burst  through  the  ceil- 
ing of  the  little  sitting  room,  the  Professor 
could  not  have  been  more  agitated.  He  had 
sunk  down  upon  a  chair,  pale  and  shaking  all 
over  with  the  effect  of  the  surprise. 

"  He  was  a  young  man  ?  "  he  faltered. 

His  visitor  sighed. 

"  It  was  five-and-twenty  years  ago/'  he  an- 
swered slowly.  "Five-and-twenty  years  rotting 
in  a  Roman  prison.  That  has  been  my  fate. 
I  was  a  young  man  then.  You  see  me  now." 

He  held  up  his  arms,  and  let  them  drop 
again  heavily  to  his  side.  It  was  a  gesture  full 
of  sad  dramatic  pathos,  but  in  that  little  room 
there  was  no  one  to  observe  it,  no  one  to  pity 
him  for  those  white  hairs  and  deep-drawn  lines. 
But  that  was  nothing.  It  was  not  pity  that  he 
wanted. 

There  was  silence.  Both  men  were  absorbed 
in  their  own  thoughts.  Signer  Bartlezzi  was 
thunderstruck  and  completely  unnerved.  The 
perspiration  stood  out  upon  his  forehead,  and 
he  could  feel  his  hands  and  legs  shaking.  This 
was  a  terrible  and  altogether  unexpected  blow 
to  him.  It  was  not  the  thought  of  that  twenty- 
five  years'  lonely  captivity  which  was  oppress- 
ing him,  so  much  as  the  fact  that  it  was  over 
— that  the  day  of  release  had  come,  and  that 


n6    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

it  was  indeed  Count  Marioni  who  stood  before 
him,  alive  and  a  free  man.  That  was  the  seri- 
ous part  of  it.  Had  it  not  been  proclaimed  that 
the  imprisonment  was  for  life  ?  That  had  cer- 
tainly been  the  sentence.  A  gleam  of  hope 
flashed  in  upon  him.  Perhaps  he  had  escaped 
from  prison.  If  so,  the  sooner  he  was  back 
there  the  better. 

"  Was  not  the  sentence  for  life  ?  "  he  gasped. 

The  Count  assented,  shaking  his  head  slowly. 

"  Yes,  for  life,"  he  answered  bitterly. 
"  That  was  the  sentence,  imprisonment  for 
life." 

"  Then  you  have  escaped  ?  " 

The  same  slow  shake  of  the  head.  The  Pro- 
fessor was  bitterly  disappointed. 

"  No.  At  five-and-twenty  years  a  prisoner 
with  a  good-conduct  sheet  is  restored  to  liberty. 
My  time  came  at  last.  It  was  a  weary  while." 

"  What  evil  fate  kept  him  alive  all  that 
time  ? "  the  Professor  muttered  under  his 
breath.  "  Men  are  buried  deep  who  pass  with- 
in the  walls  of  an  Italian  prison.  What  had 
kept  this  frail  old  man  alive?"  Before  the 
night  was  over,  he  knew ! 

The  Professor  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  chair, 
limp  and  dejected.  He  was  quite  powerless 
to  frame  any  speech  of  welcome  or  congratula- 
tion. Fortunately,  it  was  not  expected.  His 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          117 

visitor  was  deep  in  thought,  and  some  time 
passed  before  he  appeared  even  to  notice  the 
presence  of  Signor  Bartlezzi.  At  last,  how- 
ever, he  looked  up  and  spoke. 

"  I  fear  that  all  things  have  not  gone  well 
with  us ! "  he  said  sadly.  "  On  my  release,  I 
visited  the  old  home  of  our  society  in  the 
Piazza  di  Spiola  at  Rome.  It  was  broken  up. 
I  met  with  no  one  who  could  tell  me  anything 
about  it.  It  was  doubtless  because  I  knew  not 
where  to  go;  but  I  had  fancied — I  had  hoped 
— that  there  might  have  been  some  one  whose 
memory  would  not  have  been  altogether  dulled 
by  time,  who  would  have  come  to  meet  me  at 
the  prison  gates,  and  welcome  me  back  into  the 
living  world  once  more.  But  that  is  nothing. 
Doubtless  the  day  of  my  release  was  unknown. 
It  was  the  hot  season  at  Rome,  and  I  wandered 
wearily  about,  seeing  no  familiar  face,  and  un- 
able to  hear  anything  of  our  friends.  I  might 
have  had  patience  and  lingered,  but  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  had  been  patient  so  long — it  was 
all  exhausted.  From  there  I  went  to  Florence, 
with  the  same  result.  At  last  I  came  to  Lon- 
don, and  by  making  cautious  inquiries  through 
my  bank,  I  discovered  your  address.  So  I  have 
come  here." 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes,"  answered  the  Professor, 
with  blinking  eyes,  and  still  completely  bewil- 


Il8          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

dered.    "  You  have  come  here.    Just  so.    Just 


so." 


'  The  numbers  have  fallen  off,  I  suppose  ? 
Yet  you  still  have  meetings  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  certainly.  We  still  have  meet- 
ings," the  Professor  assented  spasmodically. 

The  little  old  man  nodded  his  head  gravely. 
He  had  never  doubted  it. 

'  When  is  the  next?  "  he  asked,  with  the  first 
touch  of  eagerness  creeping  into  his  voice. 

Signor  Bartlezzi  felt  a  cold  perspiration  on 
his  forehead,  and  slowly  mopped  it  with  a  red 
cotton  handkerchief.  The  calmness  of  despair 
was  settling  down  upon  him.  "  He  must 
know,"  he  thought.  "  Better  get  it  over." 

"  To-night,"  he  answered,  "  in  an  hour — 
perhaps  before.  They'll  be  dropping  in  di- 
rectly." 

"  Ah !  "  It  was  a  long-drawn  and  significant 
monosyllable.  The  Count  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
commenced  pacing  the  room.  Already  its 
meanness  was  forgotten,  its  narrow  walls  had 
expanded.  The  day  of  his  desire  had  come. 
"  What  are  your  numbers  now?  "  he  asked. 

The  Professor  drew  a  long  breath,  and  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  visitor.  The  thing  was 
narrowing  down. 

"  Four,"  he  answered ;  "  four  besides  my- 
self." 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          119 

The  Count  started  and  appeared  perplexed. 

"  Four  on  the  acting  committee,  you  mean, 
I  suppose  ?  "  he  suggested.  "  Four  is  the  old 
number." 

The  Professor  shook  his  head  doggedly. 

"  Four  altogether,"  he  repeated. 

The  old  man's  eyes  flashed,  but  the  angry 
light  died  almost  immediately  away.  After  all, 
there  might  be  grave  reasons,  of  which  he  was 
ignorant,  for  restricting  the  number. 

"  Four  desperate  and  brave  men  may  be 
much,"  he  mused,  half  aloud.  "  One  will  do 
enough  for  my  purpose." 

There  was  a  ghastly  humor  in  that  speech 
which  was  nearly  too  much  for  Signer  Bart- 
lezzi.  He  was  within  an  ace  of  collapsing,  but 
he  saved  himself  by  a  quick  glance  at  that 
worn  old  man.  His  visitor  was  living  in  the 
light  of  five-and-twenty  years  ago.  The  awak- 
ening would  come.  It  was  at  hand. 

"  Signor  Bartlezzi,"  the  Count  said,  pausing 
suddenly  in  his  restless  walk,  "  I  have  a  confes- 
sion to  make." 

"  So  had  he,"  Signor  Bartlezzi  mused, 
though  his  would  keep. 

"  Proceed,"  he  begged,  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  and  a  touch  of  his  old  bombast,  which 
had  collapsed  so  suddenly.  "  Proceed,  I  am  all 
attention." 


120          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

The  Count  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
with  his  left  hand  thrust  into  the  bosom  of  his 
coat,  and  the  right  stretched  out  toward  the 
Professor.  It  was  his  old  attitude  of  bygone 
days  into  which  he  had  unconsciously  fallen, 
but  his  expression  was  no  longer  threatening, 
and  his  voice,  though  indeed  it  quivered,  was 
free  from  the  passion  and  fire  of  his  youth.  He 
was  apologetic  now,  rather  than  denunciatory. 
It  was  a  great  change. 

'  You  will  doubtless  imagine,  Signor  Bart- 
lezzi,"  he  said,  "  from  my  presence  here,  from 
my  seeking  you  out  immediately  upon  my  re- 
lease, that  the  old  fires  burn  still  in  my  heart; 
that  my  enthusiasm  for  the  cause  still  survives 
the  chill  of  five-and-twenty  years.  Alas !  that 
I  should  confess  it,  but  it  is  not  so !  " 

'  Then  what  the  mischief  does  he  want 
here  ?  "  mused  the  Professor.  "  An  account  of 
his  money,  I  suppose.  Oh,  damn  those  meddle- 
some Italians  who  set  him  free." 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  it  is  natural,"  he  remarked 
aloud,  wagging  his  head  sagely.  "  Five-and- 
twenty  years  is  a  devil  of  a  time !  " 

"  You  will  not  misunderstand  me,  Profes- 
sor," he  went  on  almost  pleadingly.  "  You  will 
not  imagine  for  one  moment  that  the  *  Order 
of  the  White  Hyacinth '  and  everything  con- 
nected with  it,  is  not  still  dear  to  me,  very  dear. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          121 

I  am  an  old  man,  and  my  time  for  usefulness 
is  past.  Yet  there  is  one  demand  which  I  have 
to  make  of  the  association  which  I  have  faith- 
fully served  and  suffered  for.  Doubtless  you 
know  full  well  what  I  mean.  Will  you  hear  it 
now,  or  shall  I  wait  and  lay  it  before  the  meet- 
ing to-night  ?  " 

"  The  latter,  by  all  means,"  begged  the  Pro- 
fessor hastily.  "  They  wouldn't  like  it  if  you 
told  me  first.  They'd  feel  hurt,  I'm  sure." 

The  Count  bowed  his  head. 

"  So  be  it,  then,"  he  said  gravely. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  The  Professor, 
with  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat,  gazed  fixedly 
dawn  the  street. 

"  I  don't  see  why  they  shouldn't  share  the 
storm,"  he  mused.  "  He's  small,  but  he  looks 
as  though  he  might  be  awkward.  I  would  very 
much  rather  Martello  and  the  others  were 
here ;  Martello  is  a  strong  man." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  outside  door,  and 
Signer  Bartlezzi  peered  through  the  window. 

''  There  they  are !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I'll  go 
and  let  them  in  myself.  It  would  be  better  to 
prepare  them  for  your  presence.  Excuse  me." 

His  visitor  bowed,  and  resumed  his  seat. 

"  I  await  the  pleasure  of  the  Council,"  he 
said  with  dignity. 


CHAPTER   XII 

:  V  ' 

"A   FIGURE   FROM    A   WORLD   GONE   BY" 

THE  Count  was  left  to  himself  in  the  bare, 
untidy-looking  parlor,  and  for  a  minute  or  two 
he  was  content  to  sit  quite  still  and  recover 
himself  after  the  unaccustomed  exertion  of 
speech.  He  needed  all  his  strength  for  what 
lay  before  him,  but,  by  degrees,  his  restlessness 
grew.  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  paced  up 
and  down  in  increasing  excitement — his  mis- 
givings were  growing  fainter — he  worked  him- 
self up  into  the  firm  belief  that  the  day  for 
which  he  had  waited  so  long  was  at  hand. 

"  They  dare  not  deny  me !  "  he  cried,  lifting 
his  hands  high  above  his  head  until  they  almost 
touched  the  smoke-begrimed  ceiling ;  "  it  is  my 
due,  my  just  reward !  " 

He  was  so  absorbed  that  he  did  not  hear  the 
noises  outside — the  shuffling  of  feet,  and,  after 
a  while,  a  brief  suppressed  tittering.  Signer 
Bartlezzi,  who  had  entered  the  room  quietly, 
had  to  speak  twice  before  he  was  conscious  of 
his  presence. 

"  They  are   in   the   room  behind,    Signor 


122 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     123 

Count,  and  I  have  informed  them  of  your  pres- 
ence," he  announced. 

The  Count  drew  himself  up,  and  stopped 
suddenly  short  in  his  restless  walk. 

"  Good !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Lead  the  way ! 
I  follow." 

Together  they  passed  into  the  narrow  pas- 
sage, and  the  Professor  threw  open  the  door  of 
another  room.  The  Count  entered. 

The  Professor  had  done  what  he  could  in 
the  short  time  at  his  disposal.  Pens  and  ink 
had  been  placed  upon  the  deal  table,  and  the 
chairs  had  been  ranged  along  it  instead  of 
around  the  fire.  The  tobacco  jar  and  pipes 
were  there,  however,  and  some  suspicious- 
looking  jugs;  and  the  hasty  current  of  fresh 
air,  caused  by  the  withdrawal  of  a  sheet  of 
brown  paper  from  the  upper  window  frame, 
was  altogether  powerless  to  cope  with  the 
close  beer-house  smell  which  hung  about  the 
place. 

The  company  consisted  of  four  men.  The 
chair  at  the  head  of  the  table  had  been  left  va- 
cant for  the  Professor.  On  the  right  sat  An- 
drew Martello,  an  anglicized  Italian,  and  a 
vendor  of  ice  cream;  on  the  left  was  Pietro 
Muratti,  the  proprietor  of  an  itinerant  musical 
instrument.  These  were  the  only  two,  besides 
the  Professor,  who  had  any  pretense  to  Italian 


124          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

blood.  The  other  two  were  a  French  barber 
and  a  Jew  pawnbroker. 

The  light  was  purposely  dim,  and  the  Count's 
eyes  were  bad.  Besides,  his  long  confinement, 
and  the  great  though  suppressed  excitement 
under  which  he  was  laboring,  had  to  a  certain 
extent  confused  his  judgment.  He  saw  a  mean 
room,  and  four  men  only,  when  he  had  dreamed 
of  a  chamber  in  some  great  house  and  an  im- 
portant assemblage ;  but,  disappointing  though 
this  was,  it  did  not  seem  fatal  to  his  hopes. 
Let  but  these  four  men  be  faithful  to  their 
oaths,  and  he,  who  had  served  their  cause  so 
well,  could  demand  as  a  right  the  boon  he 
craved.  He  strove  earnestly  to  read  their 
faces,  but  the  light  was  bad  and  his  eyes  were 
dim.  He  must  wait.  Their  voices  would  show 
him  what  manner  of  men  they  were.  After 
all,  why  should  he  doubt  for  a  moment?  Men 
who  had  remained  faithful  to  a  dying  and  de- 
serted cause,  must  needs  be  men  of  strength 
and  honorable  men.  The  very  fewness  of  their 
numbers  proved  it,  else  why  should  they  too 
not  have  fallen  away.  He  would  banish  all 
doubt.  He  would  speak  when  his  time  came 
with  all  confidence. 

The  Professor  introduced  him  with  all  so- 
lemnity, casting  an  appealing  glance  at  each 
in  turn,  as  though  begging  them  to  accept  this 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  125 

matter  seriously.  There  was  just  a  slender 
thread  of  hope  still,  and  he  did  not  intend  to 
abandon  it. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  have  the  honor  to 
present  to  you  the  Count  Leonardo  di  Marioni, 
a  martyr,  as  you  all  know,  to  our  cause.  Count 
Marioni  was,  only  last  week,  released  from  an 
imprisonment  which  has  lasted  for  five-and- 
twenty  years." 

They  all  looked  at  him  curiously — a  little 
compassionately,  but  none  of  them  were  quite 
sure  how  to  acknowledge  the  salutation.  The 
Jew  alone  stood  up  and  made  a  shuffling  little 
bow;  the  others  remained  silent  except  the  lit- 
tle French  barber,  who  murmured  something 
about  pleasure  and  acquaintance,  which  the 
Professor  promptly  frowned  down.  The 
Count,  who  had  remained  standing,  advanced 
to  the  bottom  of  the  table,  and,  laying  his  trem- 
bling hands  upon  it,  spoke : 

"  Gentlemen  and  Brothers  of  the  Order  of 
the  White  Hyacinth,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  I  am 
glad  to  meet  you." 

The  Frenchman  and  the  Italian  Muratti  ex- 
changed expressive  winks.  The  vendor  of  ice 
cream  growled  across  the  table  for  the  bird's- 
eye,  and  commenced  leisurely  filling  his  pipe, 
while  the  Jew  ventured  upon  a  feeble  "  hear, 
hear." 


126          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"  My  name  is  doubtless  known  to  you,"  the 
Count  continued,  "  and  the  story  of  my  life, 
which,  I  am  proud  to  remember,  is  closely  in- 
terwoven with  the  history  of  your  Order.  Your 
faces,  alas!  are  strange  to  me.  My  old  com- 
rades, whom  I  had  hoped  to  meet,  and  whose 
sympathy  I  had  counted  on,  are  no  more.  I 
feel  somewhat  as  though  I  had  stepped  out  of 
the  shadows  of  a  bygone  life,  and  everything 
is  a  little  strange  to  me.  I  have  grown  unac- 
customed even  to  speech  itself.  You  must  par- 
don me  if  I  do  not  make  myself  understood  with 
ease.  The  past  seems  very,  very  far  away. 

By  this  time  all  the  pipes  were  lit,  and  the 
mugs  were  filled.  The  smoke  hung  round  the 
little  assembly  in  a  faint  cloud,  and  the  atmos- 
phere was  growing  dense.  The  Count  looked 
a  little  puzzled,  but  he  only  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment. He  remembered  that  he  was  in  Eng- 
land, and  the  habits  of  foreigners  were  not 
easy  to  grow  accustomed  to.  It  was  a  small 
matter,  although  he  wished  that  the  odor  of 
the  tobacco  had  not  been  quite  so  rank.  When 
he  resumed  speaking,  however,  it  was  forgot- 
ten in  a  moment. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  bear  with  me  in  a  certain 
confession  which  I  am  about  to  make,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  I  am  not  here  to-night  to  inquire  or 
in  any  way  to  concern  myself  in  the  political 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    127 

prospects  of  our  Order.  Alas !  that  the  time 
should  come  when  I  should  find  myself  calmly 
acknowledging  that  my  country's  sorrows  were 
mine  no  longer.  But,  comrades,  I  must  claim 
from  you  your  generous  consideration.  Five- 
and-twenty  years  is  a  long  time.  I  have  lost 
my  touch  of  history.  My  memory — I  must 
confess  it — my  memory  itself  is  weak.  I  do 
not  doubt  that,  small  though  your  numbers  be, 
you  are  nobly  carrying  on  the  work  in  which  I, 
too,  once  bore  a  part.  I  do  not  doubt  but  that 
you  are  laboring  still  in  the  glorious  cause  of 
liberty.  But  I  am  with  you  no  longer;  my 
work  on  earth  for  others,  such  as  it  has  been, 
is  accomplished.  I  do  not  come  to  aid  or  to 
join  you.  Alas!  that  I  should  say  it,  I,  Leo- 
nardo di  Marioni,  whose  life  was  once  so 
closely  bound  up  with  your  prosperity  as  the 
breath  of  a  man  is  to  his  body.  But  it  is  so.  I 
am  stranded  upon  the  wreck  of  my  past,  and  I 
can  only  call  upon  you  with  a  far-distant  voice 
for  my  own  salvation." 

There  was  a  distinct  air  of  relief.  The  ven- 
dor of  ice  cream  spat  upon  the  floor,  and,  in 
response  to  a  frown  from  the  Professor,  at 
once  covered  it  with  his  foot.  The  Professor 
drew  his  hand  thoughtfully  down  his  chin. 
They  were  approaching  the  crux  of  the  whole 
matter. 


128          TO  WIN   THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

"  We  regret  it  deeply,  Count,"  he  said  sol- 
emnly. "  In  that  case  the  small  trifle  of  money 
which  the  London  agents  of  your  bank  have 
placed  to  our  credit  yearly  on  your  behalf  for 
the  cause,  and  which  has  regularly  been  used 
for  the — er — necessary  expenses — er " 

The  Count  stretched  out  his  hand. 

"  It  is  nothing/'  he  answered.  "  Why 
should  you  mention  it?  That  and  more,  too, 
the  Order  is  welcome  to.  I  doubt  not  that  it 
has  been  well  used." 

"  It  has !  "  they  cried,  with  one  voice. 

"  A  drop  more  beer,  and  a  bottle  of 
bran " 

The  ice  vendor  never  finished  his  sentence. 
A  furious  kick  from  the  Professor,  under  the 
table,  reminded  him  that  he  was  on  dangerous 
grounds,  and  he  desisted,  rubbing  his  leg  and 
growling. 

The  Count  scarcely  heeded  the  interruption. 
His  whole  form  was  shaking  with  eagerness; 
his  bony,  white  hands  were  outstretched  toward 
his  four  listeners.  For  five-and-twenty  years 
he  had  dreamed  of  this. 

"  No,  my  appearance  once  more  before  you, 
comrades,  brothers,  has  no  such  petty  object !  " 
he  cried.  "  I  am  here  to  demand  my  rights 
as  a  member  of  the  Order  of  the  White  Hya- 
cinth. I  am  here  to  remind  you  of  our  great 


TO  WIN   THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  129 

principle — vengeance  upon  traitors !  I  am  here 
to  remind  you  of  your  unchanging  oaths,  and 
to  claim  your  fulfillment  of  them,  even  as  Fran- 
cesco Dellia  pleaded,  and  not  in  vain,  before 
the  council  at  Rome  thirty  years  ago.  We  are 
a  society  of  peace,  save  alone  where  traitors 
are  concerned.  I  point  out  to  you  a  traitor, 
and  I  cry — punishment !  " 

The  Professor  knitted  his  brows,  and  his 
hopes  suddenly  fell.  They  all  exchanged 
glances. 

"  Old  buffer's  dotty,"  whispered  the  Jew  to 
his  neighbor,  tapping  his  head  significantly. 

The  musical  gentleman  nodded. 

"  Let's  hear  what  it's  all  about,  anyhow," 
muttered  the  ice-cream  vendor,  tapping  the 
table. 

There  was  silence  at  once.  They  all  turned 
toward  the  Count,  and  waited. 

He  had  not  been  disappointed  in  their 
silence.  It  seemed  to  him  like  the  prudent 
reserve  of  true  conspirators.  They  wished  to 
hear  his  case,  and,  as  yet,  he  had  only  reached 
the  preamble.  Good !  they  should  hear  it. 

'  You  all  know  that  I  was  arrested  and 
thrown  into  prison  because  I  broke  what  they 
choose  to  call  my  parole — because,  after  the 
sentence  of  banishment  had  been  passed  upon 
me,  I  returned  to  my  native  country,  and  took 


130 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 


part  once  more  in  the  counsels  of  our  Order. 
But  you  have  yet  to  learn  this,  comrades ;  you 
have  yet  to  learn  that  I  was  betrayed,  foully, 
wilfully — betrayed  into  the  clutches  of  the 
Italian  police.  Before  my  very  eyes  papers 
of  our  society  incriminating  me  were  placed  in 
the  hand  of  our  enemy,  Signer  Villesco,  by  one 
who  had  sworn  our  oaths  in  the  first  degree 
and  worn  our  flower.  At  your  hands  I  call 
for  vengeance  upon  my  betrayers — vengeance 
upon  Adrienne  di  Cartuccio,  calling  herself 
Lady  St.  Maurice,  vengeance  upon  her  hus- 
band, her  family,  and  all  belonging  to  her.  It 
is  the  first  decree  of  our  Order,  which  all  of 
you  have  sworn  to,  and  I  stand  within  my 
rights.  Answer,  comrades  of  the  Order  of  the 
White  Hyacinth!  For  your  sake  I  have 
languished  five-and-twenty  years  in  a  Roman 
prison.  With  you  it  rests  to  sweeten  my 
death.  By  your  oaths,  I  charge  you,  give 
me  vengeance ! " 

His  eyes  were  flashing,  and  his  features,  for 
the  first  time,  were  convulsed  with  anxiety. 
What  meant  this  unsympathetic  silence,  this 
lack  of  enthusiasm?  He  looked  from  one  to 
another  of  their  stolid,  puzzled  faces.  Where 
were  the  outstretched  hands,  the  deep  solemn 
oaths,  the  cry  for  lots  to  be  drawn,  which  he 
had  confidently  expected?  Their  silence  was 


TO  .WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          131 

driving  him  mad.  Suddenly  the  ice-cream 
vendor  spoke. 

"  What  is  it  you  want,  gaffer  ?  "  he  asked, 
without  removing  his  pipe  from  his  mouth. 
"  Cursed  if  I  can  see  what  you're  driving  at,  or 
any  of  us,  for  that  matter." 

"  What  is  it  I  want  ?  "  he  cried  passionately. 
"  The  life  of  my  betrayer,  or  such  a  mark  of  my 
vengeance  as  will  make  her  rue  the  day  she 
sent  one  of  your  Order  to  work  out  his  life, 
a  miserable  captive,  in  a  prison  cell.  Is  it  not 
clear  what  I  want?  Speak,  all  of  you!  Do 
you  grudge  me  this  thing?  Do  you  hesitate?  " 

The  vendor  of  ice  cream  constituted  himself 
the  spokesman  of  the  little  party.  He  knocked 
the  dead  ashes  from  his  pipe,  and  leisurely 
refilled  it.  The  little  old  man  at  the  bottom 
of  the  table  was  shaking  with  anxiety.  The 
thunderbolt  quivered  in  the  air. 

'  That's  all  bally  rot,  you  know,  guv'nor,"  he 
said  calmly.  "  We  ain't  murderers  here !  This 
White  Hyacinth  crew  as  you're  a-talking  of 
must  a  been  a  bloodthirsty  lot  o'  chaps.  We 
ain't  on  that  track.  We  meets  here  just  for  a 
drop  and  a  smoke,  sociable  like,  with  our  friend 
the  Professor,  and  forms  a  sort  of  a  club  like 
among  hourselves.  You've  come  to  the  wrong 
shop!" 

The  man's  words,  blunt  and  unfeeling,  an- 


132  TO   WIN   THE   LOVE   HE   SOUGHT 

swered  their  purpose  well.  They  left  no 
possibility  of  doubt  or  misunderstanding.  The 
Count,  after  a  moment's  wild  stare  around, 
tottered,  and  sank  into  a  chair.  All  that  had 
seemed  strange  to  him  was  suddenly  clear.  His 
head  fell  upon  his  arms,  and  he  crouched  there 
motionless.  The  hopes  of  five-and-twenty  years 
were  wrecked.  The  spark  which  had  left  him 
alive  had  died  out!  The  Order  of  the  White 
Hyacinth  was  no  more ! 

There  was  a  distinct  and  terrible  pathos  in 
the  scene.  Even  those  rough,  coarse  men, 
casting  uneasy  glances  at  that  white,  bowed 
head  and  crouching  figure  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  and  listening  to  his  low  moaning,  were 
conscious  of  a  vague  pity.  They  thought  of 
him  as  of  some  wandering  lunatic  who  had 
strayed  in  upon  them;  and,  indeed,  none  of 
them,  except  the  Professor,  doubted  but  that 
he  was  mad. 

He  looked  up  at  last,  and  the  ice-cream 
vendor,  who  was  not  a  bad  sort  at  heart,  poured 
out  a  mugful  of  the  unwholesome-looking  beer, 
and  pushed  it  across  the  table  toward  him. 

:<  Here,  guv'nor,  drink  this/'  he  said  gruffly ; 
"  it'll  do  you  good.  Cheer  up,  old  buck !  I 
should.  What's  done  can't  be  undone,  and 
what's  dead  can't  be  brought  to  life  again. 
Make  the  best  of  it,  I  say.  You've  got  some  of 


TO   WIN   THE   LOVE   HE   SOUGHT  133 

the  ready  left,  I'll  go  bail,  and  you  ain't  too  old 
to  get  a  bit  out  o'  life  yet — if  yer  make  haste. 
And  about  that  bloodthirsty  talk  of  yours, 
about  vengeance  and  such  like,  you  just  take 
my  tip  and  chuck  it.  We  think  more  of  life 
here  than  they  does  in  furrin  parts,  and 
hangin'  ain't  a  pleasant  death.  Take  my  tip, 
guv'nor,  you  chuck  it !  " 

The  Count  pushed  the  mug  away,  and 
rose  to  his  feet.  He  had  not  heard  a  word. 
There  was  a  terrible  buzzing  in  his  head  and 
ears. 

"  I  am  a  foolish  old  man,  I  fear,"  he  said  un- 
steadily. "  I  ought  to  have  considered.  Five- 
and-twenty-years !  Ah,  yes,  it  is  a  long  time 
ago.  Professor,  will  you  send  your  servant  for 
a  carriage  ?  I  will  go  away." 

He  stood  quite  still,  talking  softly  to  himself, 
with  the  tips  of  his  fingers  still  resting  lightly 
upon  the  table,  and  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes. 
Signer  Bartlezzi  himself  ran  hatless  to  the 
nearest  cabstand,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
rattle  of  a  vehicle  was  heard  outside,  and  the 
Professor  returned  breathless.  The  Count  rose 
at  once. 

"  I  wish  you  good-night,  gentlemen,"  he 
said  mildly.  "  You  have  been  very  patient  with 
me.  Five-and-twenty  years !  It  is  a  long 
while — a  long  while!  Five-and-twenty  years! 


134          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

Good-evening,  gentlemen.  Professor,  I  will 
take  your  arm  to  the  door.  My  sight  is  a — 
little  dim.  Thank  you.  How  dark  it  is.  The 
Hotel  Continental,  if  you  please.  Thank  you, 
Professor." 
And  so  he  went  away. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

BETWEEN  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

FOR  three  days  Count  Leonardo  di  Marioni 
abode  in  his  sitting-room  at  the  Hotel  Con- 
tinental, living  the  life  of  a  man  in  a  dream. 
So  far  as  the  outside  world  was  concerned, 
it  was  a  complete  case  of  suspended  anima- 
tion. Of  all  that  passed  around  him  he  was 
only  dimly  conscious.  The  faces  of  his  fellow 
creatures  were  strange  to  him.  He  had  lost 
touch  with  the  world,  and  the  light  of  his 
reason  was  flickering;  almost  it  seemed  as 
though  it  would  go  out  indeed,  and  leave 
him  groping  in  the  chaos  of  insanity.  Me- 
chanically he  rose  late  in  the  morning,  ate 
what  was  brought  to  him,  or  ordered  what 
was  suggested.  All  day  long  he  sat  in  a 
sort  of  dreamless  apathy,  living  still  the  life 
of  the  last  five-and-twenty  years,  and  finding 
no  change,  save  that  the  chair  in  which  he 
sat  was  softer,  and  the  fire  over  which  he 
stretched  his  withered  palms  was  a  new  ex- 
perience to  him.  There  were  things  even 
which  he  missed  in  the  freedom — if  freedom 

135 


136          TO  WIN  THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

it  could  be  called.  He  missed  the  warm 
dancing  sunlight  which,  day  by  day,  had 
filled  the  shabby  sitting-room  of  his  con- 
finement. He  missed  that  patch  of  deep  blue 
sky  seen  through  his  high,  barred  window, 
and  the  fragrant  scents  of  the  outside  world 
which,  day  by  day,  had  floated  through  it. 
He  missed  the  kindly  greeting  of  his  pitying 
gaoler,  and  the  simple  food — the  macaroni, 
the  black  coffee,  and  the  fruit — which  had 
been  served  to  him;  and  above  all,  there 
was  something  else  which  he  missed. 

For  through  all  his  apathy  he  was  conscious 
of  a  great  sickening  disappointment,  some- 
thing gone  out  of  his  life  which  had  helped 
him,  day  by  day,  through  all  that  weary 
imprisonment.  Dear  to  his  heart  had  grown 
that  hope  of  standing  one  day  before  the 
masters  of  his  Order,  and  claiming,  as  his 
rightful  due,  vengeance  upon  those  whose 
word  had  sent  him  into  captivity.  Dear  to 
his  memory  and  treasured  among  his  thoughts 
had  grown  that  hope.  In  his  prison  house 
he  had  grown  narrower;  other  thoughts  and 
purposes  had  faded  away.  That  one  only 
remained,  growing  stronger  and  stronger  day 
by  day,  until  it  had  seized  hold  of  his  whole 
being.  He  lived  only  through  it  and  with  it. 

Given  some   soul-absorbing  purpose,   some 


TO  WIN   THE   LOVE   HE   SOUGHT  137 

cherished  end,  however  dimly  seen  through 
the  mists  of  futurity,  and  a  man  may  pre- 
serve his  reason  through  the  longest  captivity ; 
while,  day  by  day,  his  narrowing  life  contracts 
till  all  conscience,  all  hope,  all  sentiment,  be- 
come the  slaves  of  that  one  passionate  desire. 
Day  by  day,  it  looms  larger  before  him; 
day  by  day,  all  doubts  concerning  it  grow 
weaker,  and  the  justice  of  it  becomes  clearer 
and  more  unquestioned.  Right  and  wrong, 
justice  and  injustice,  according  to  other  men's 
standards,  have  no  power  over  it  in  his  own 
thoughts.  His  moral  sense  slumbers.  So 
deeply  has  it  become  grafted  into  his  life, 
that  he  no  more  questions  its  right  to  exist 
than  he  does  the  presence  of  the  limbs  upon 
his  body.  As  surely  as  the  night  follows  day, 
so  surely  does  his  whole  being  gravitate 
toward  the  accomplishment  of  his  desire.  It 
is  a  part  of  what  is  left  of  his  life,  and  if  it 
is  smitten,  his  life  is  smitten.  They  are  at 
once  sympathetic  and  identical,  so  closely 
entwined  that  to  sever  them  is  death  to  both. 

Thus  it  was  with  Count  Marioni,  and  thus 
it  was  that,  day  by  day,  he  sat  in  his  sitting- 
room  slowly  pining  to  death.  Rude  feet  had 
trampled  upon  the  desire  of  his  life,  and  the 
wound  was  open  and  bleeding.  Only  a  little 
while  longer  and  he  would  have  turned  upon 


138          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

his  side  with  a  sigh,  and  yielded  up  his  last 
breath;  and,  so  far  as  his  numbed  faculties 
could  have  conceived  a  thought,  death  would 
have  seemed  very  pleasant  to  him.  He  was 
dying  of  loneliness,  of  disappointment  and 
despair. 

The  people  at  the  hotel  had  made  several 
attempts  to  rouse  him,  but  in  vain.  He  an- 
swered no  questions,  and  in  his  quiet  way 
resented  intrusion.  He  paid  whatever  was 
demanded,  and  he  gave  no  trouble.  The 
manager,  who  knew  his  history  from  a  short 
cutting  in  a  newspaper  which  had  chronicled 
his  arrival  in  London,  was  at  his  wits'  end  to 
know  how  to  save  him.  He  had  once  en- 
deavored to  reason  gently  with  his  eccentric 
visitor,  and  he  had  been  bidden  quietly  to 
leave  the  room.  On  his  endeavoring  to 
make  one  more  appeal,  the  Count  had  risen 
quietly  and  pointed  to  the  door. 

"I  wish  only  to  be  left  in  peace,"  he  said, 
with  a  touch  of  dignity  in  his  sad,  calm 
manner.  "If  you  cannot  do  that  I  will  go 
away  to  another  hotel.  Choose !" 

The  manager  had  bowed  and  withdrawn 
in  silence.  But  he  was  a  kind-hearted  man, 
and  he  was  still  troubled  about  the  matter. 
Day  by  day  the  Count  was  growing  weaker; 
before  long  he  would  doubtless  die  from  sheer 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT     139 

distaste  of  living  as  much  as  from  any  actual 
disease.  Something  ought  to  be  done  toward 
communicating  with  his  friends,  if  he  had 
any.  With  a  certain  amount  of  reluctance, 
the  manager,  as  a  last  resource,  penned  the 
following  advertisement  and  sent  it  to  the 
principal  London  papers : 

"If  there  are  any  friends  or  relatives  still 
alive  of  Count  Leonardo  di  Marioni,  who 
has  recently  been  set  free  by  the  Italian 
Government  after  a  long  term  of  imprison- 
ment, they  are  requested  to  communicate,  per- 
sonally, if  possible,  with  the  manager  of  the 
Hotel  Continental,  where  the  Count  is  now 
lying  dangerously  ill." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AN   EVERLASTING   HATE 

AT  four  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  the  fol- 
lowing day,  an  open  barouche,  drawn  by  a  pair 
of  magnificent  bay  horses,  drove  up  to  the  door 
of  the  Hotel  Continental.  The  manager,  who 
was  standing  at  the  window  of  his  private 
room,  noticed  two  things — first,  that  there 
was  a  coronet  upon  the  carriage  door;  and 
secondly,  that  the  lady  who  was  alighting  car- 
ried in  her  hand  a  copy  of  the  Morning  Post 
turned  down,  as  though  to  mark  a  certain  place 
in  it. 

As  she  crossed  the  pavement  he  had  a  better 
view  of  her  face,  and  recognized  her  with  a 
little  start  of  surprise.  In  a  moment  he  was 
outside,  and  on  the  steps  to  receive  her,  an 
attention  he  very  rarely  bestowed  upon  his 
guests. 

The  swing  doors  opened  and  closed,  and 
the  lady,  with  the  paper  still  in  her  hand, 
turned  to  the  manager. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  this  para- 
graph?" she  asked,  touching  it  with  her  deli- 

140 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT  141 

cately-gloved  forefinger.  "The  one,  I  mean, 
which  concerns  the  Count  di  Marioni?" 

"Certainly,  your  ladyship."  he  answered.  "I 
inserted  it  myself." 

"He  is  still  here,  I  suppose?" 

"He  is,  your  ladyship.  I  do  not  know 
whether  you  will  consider  that  I  acted  wisely 
in  taking  such  a  step,  but  I  could  see  no 
alternative.  He  arrived  here  alone  about  a 
fortnight  ago,  and  at  that  time  there  seemed 
to  be  nothing  singular  about  him  excepting 
his  clothing,  and  a  certain  nervousness  which 
the  servants  marked  in  his  manner,  and  which 
we  can  scarcely  wonder  at,  considering  his 
painful  history  and  recent  return  to — er — 
civilized  ways.  He  left  the  hotel  almost  im- 
mediately after  engaging  his  room,  and  was 
away,  I  believe,  for  several  hours.  I  chanced 
to  be  in  the  hall  on  his  return,  and  was  struck 
by  the  change  in  his  appearance.  Your  lady- 
ship, I  never  saw  a  man  on  whose  face  was 
written  such  dumb  and  helpless  agony.  He 
went  straight  to  his  room,  and  since  then  has 
never  left  it.  He  is  simply  pining  to  death 
there.  He  neither  eats,  nor  drinks,  nor  speaks. 
He  sits  there,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  fire, 
like  a  man  waiting  for  his  end.  I  ventured 
to  visit  him  one  morning,  but  my  attempts  at 
remonstrance  were  cut  short  at  once  in  a  most 


142  TO   WIN   THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

dignified  fashion.  I  feel  that  it  would  be  heart- 
less to  ask  him  to  leave  the  hotel;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  if  he  remains,  and  continues  in  the 
same  way,  he  will  certainly  either  die  or  go 
mad  very  shortly.  What  he  wants  is  the  per- 
sonal care  of  friends,  and  very  kind  treatment ; 
and  as  I  could  think  of  no  other  way  of  com- 
munication with  them,  I  decided  to  advertise 
his  presence  here.  I  trust  that  your  ladyship 
does  not  think  my  interference  officious?" 

He  bowed  his  head,  and  turned  away  out 
of  respect  for  the  tears  which  he  could  see  in 
her  eyes,  and  which  she  made  scarcely  an 
effort  to  conceal. 

"No;  you  did  quite  right,"  she  said  after 
a  moment's  pause.  "I  was  waiting  for  my 
husband  outside  the  club,  and  quite  by  chance 
I  took  up  the  Post  and  saw  your  paragraph. 
I  drove  here  at  once.  Will  you  show  me  to 
the  Count's  rooms,  if  you  please?" 

"Certainly,  your  ladyship.  Will  you  come 
this  way?" 

She  followed  him  up  the  fine  marble  stair- 
case and  down  the  first-floor  corridor.  At  the 
extreme  end  he  paused  outside  a  door. 

"It  is  of  no  use  knocking,"  he  said;  "he 
never  answers.  If  I  can  be  of  any  further 
service,  your  ladyship  will  perhaps  be  so  good 
as  to  ring  the  bell." 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  143 

He  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  closed  it 
quietly  as  she  entered.  Then  he  retreated 
along  the  corridor,  and  returned  to  his  room, 
wondering  not  a  little  at  the  visitor  whom  his 
advertisement  had  brought. 

The  great  room  in  which  the  Count  Marioni 
was  sitting  was  almost  in  darkness,  for  the 
afternoon  was  dull  and  foggy,  and  the  cur- 
tains were  partially  closed.  There  was  no 
lamp  lit,  and  the  only  light  came  from  the 
brightly-burning  fire  near  which  the  Count 
was  sitting  in  an  armchair  ludicrously  too 
large  for  his  frail  body.  The  flames  fell  upon 
his  white,  worn  face,  with  its  deep  branding 
lines,  and  gleamed  in  his  great  sad  eyes,  so 
bright  and  dry  that  they  seemed  like  mirrors 
for  the  firelight.  His  hair  and  short  unkempt 
beard  were  as  white  as  snow,  matching  even 
the  unnatural  pallor  of  his  skin,  and  his  black 
frock  coat  was  buttoned  across  a  chest  which 
would  have  been  narrow  for  a  consumptive 
boy.  He  did,  indeed,  look  on  the  threshold 
of  death. 

He  had  not  turned  his  head  at  the  opening 
or  closing  of  the  door,  but  presently  another 
sound  broke  the  silence.  It  was  a  woman's  sob, 
and  as  he  slowly  turned  his  head,  a  tall,  grace- 
ful figure  moved  forward  out  of  the  shadows, 
and  he  heard  his  name  softly  murmured. 


l^j          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

"Leonardo!" 

His  hand  went  up  to  his  forehead.  Was 
it  a  dream;  or  was  he  indeed  back  once  more 
in  the  days  of  his  youth,  back  among  the 
pine  woods  which  topped  his  castle,  walking 
side  by  side  with  her  whose  presence  seemed 
to  make  the  long  summer  days  one  sweet 
dream  of  delight?  The  familiar  odor  of 
violets  and  wild  hyacinths  seemed  to  fill  the 
room.  The  fog-bound  city,  with  its  cease- 
less roar,  existed  for  him  no  longer.  The 
sun  of  his  own  dear  country  warmed  his  heart, 
and  the  sea  wind  blew  in  his  eager  face.  And 
she  was  there — his  queen — the  great  desire 
of  his  weary  life.  All  his  pulses  leaped  with 
the  joy  of  her  presence.  Five-and- twenty 
years  of  lonely  misery  were  blotted  out.  Ah! 
memory  is  a  wonderful  magician ! 

"Leonardo !    Will  you  not  speak  to  me  ?" 

Again  that  voice!  Where  was  he  now? 
Face  to  face  with  her  on  the  sands  at  Palermo, 
deceived,  betrayed,  given  over  to  the  enemies 
of  his  country,  and  by  her — the  woman  for 
whom  his  passionate  love  had  been  his  sole 
crime.  Listen!  The  air  is  full  of  that  cry  of 
threatened  vengeance.  Hark  how  the  echoes 
ring  back  from  the  cliffs,  "By  the  sun,  and  the 
sky,  and  the  sea,  and  the  earth,  I  swear  that,  as 
they  continue  unchanged  and  unchanging,  so 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT  145 

shall  my  hate  for  you  remain !"  Darkness — a 
prison  cell.  Year  by  year,  year  by  year,  dark- 
ness, solitude,  misery !  See  the  black  hair  turn 
gray,  the  strength  of  manhood  wasting  away, 
the  eye  growing  dim,  the  body  weak.  Year 
by  year,  year  by  year,  it  goes  on.  What  was 
that  scratched  upon  the  whitewashed  walls? 
What  was  the  cry  which  rang  back  from  the 
towering  cliff!  "Hate  unchanging  and  un- 
changed!" The  same — ever  the  same. 

"Leonardo,  have  you  no  word  for  me?" 

He  rose  slowly  from  his  chair,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  her. 

Before  their  fire  she  shrank  back,  appalled. 
Was  it  a  storm  about  to  burst  upon  her  ?  No ! 
The  words  were  slow  and  few. 

"You  have  dared  to  come — here;  dared  to 
come  and  look  upon  your  handiwork !  Away ! 
Out  of  my  sight !  You  have  seen  me.  Go !" 

Tears  blinded  her  eyes.  The  sight  of  him 
was  horrible  to  her.  She  forgot,  in  her  great 
pity,  that  justice  had  been  upon  her  side.  She 
sank  upon  her  knees  before  him  on  the  velvet 
pile  carpet. 

"Leonardo,  for  the  love  of  God,  forgive 
me!"  she  sobbed.  "Oh!  it  is  painful  to  see 
you  thus,  and  to  know  the  burden  of  hate 
which  you  carry  in  your  heart.  Forgive  me! 
Forgive  us  both !" 


146          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

He  stooped  down  until  his  ghastly  face 
nearly  touched  hers. 

"Curse  you!"  he  muttered  hoarsely.  "You 
dare  to  look  at  me,  and  ask  for  forgiveness. 
Never!  never!  Every  morning  and  night  I 
curse  you.  I  curse  you  when  my  mother 
taught  me  to  pray.  I  live  for  nothing  else.  If 
I  had  the  strength  I  would  strangle  you 
where  you  stand.  Hell's  curses  and  mine 
ring  in  your  ears  and  sit  in  your  heart  day 
by  day  and  night  by  night!  Away  with  you! 
Away,  away!" 

She  was  a  brave  woman,  but  she  fled  from 
the  room  like  a  hunted  animal,  and  passed 
out  of  the  hotel  with  never  a  look  to  the  right 
or  to  the  left. 

The  manager  came  out  to  speak  to  her,  but 
he  stood  still,  aghast,  and  let  her  go  without 
uttering  a  word  or  offering  to  assist  her.  As 
long  as  he  lived  he  remembered  the  look  on 
the  Countess  of  St.  Maurice's  face  as  she  came 
down  those  stairs,  clutching  hold  of  the  banis- 
ters, and,  with  hasty  trembling  steps,  left  the 
hotel.  He  was  a  great  reader  of  fiction,  and 
he  had  heard  of  Irish  banshees  and  Brahmin 
ghosts;  but  never  a  living  story-teller  had 
painted  such  a  face  as  he  looked  upon  at  that 
moment. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  COUNT'S  SECOND  VISITOR 

Two  days  more  passed  without  any  change 
in  the  Count's  conduct  or  health,  save  that  his 
brow  was  a  little  darker,  and  he  was  heard 
occasionally  muttering  to  himself. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third,  a  four-wheeled 
cab  deposited  at  the  door  of  the  hotel  a  young 
lady,  who  demanded  somewhat  haughtily  to  see 
the  manager.  She  was  shown  into  the  waiting- 
room,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  appeared. 

He  had  been  expecting  a  visit  from  an 
applicant  for  the  post  of  assistant  bookkeeper, 
and  he  entered  the  room  with  a  little  less  than 
his  usual  ceremony,  under  the  impression  that 
this  was  she.  He  found  himself  confronted 
with  a  tall,  slim  girl,  elegantly  but  simply 
dressed  in  plain  black  clothes.  She  carried 
herself  with  the  dignity  of  a  queen,  and  before 
the  quick  glance  of  her  flashing  black  eyes  he 
felt  himself  abashed  into  making  a  low  bow. 
There  was  something  foreign  in  her  appear- 
ance, but  something  eminently  aristocratic. 

"Good-morning,  madam." 
147 


148          TO  WIN   THE   LOVE   HE   SOUGHT 

She  disdained  to  notice  the  salutation,  and, 
holding  out  a  paper  toward  him,  pointed  with 
her  long  slim  finger  to  the  advertisement 
column. 

"I  have  come  about  this  paragraph.  Take 
me  to  him !" 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure,  madam,"  he 
answered,  bowing.  "May  I  be  permitted  to 
ask,  are  you  a  relation  of  the  Count's  ?" 

"Certainly,  I  am  his  niece,"  she  answered, 
frowning.  "Take  me  to  him  at  once.  I  don't 
choose  to  be  kept  waiting,"  she  added  im- 
petuously. 

The  manager  bit  his  lip,  and  bowed  again  to 
hide  a  smile.  It  seemed  to  him  that  if  this 
young  lady  failed  to  rouse  his  eccentric  visitor 
the  task  was  hopeless  indeed. 

"Will  you  pardon  me,  madam,  if  I  detain 
you  one  moment,"  he  said  deferentially.  "I 
should  like,  before  you  see  the  Count,  to  ex- 
plain to  you  the  reasons  which  induced  me 
to  insert  that  notice  in  the  Times." 

She  tapped  the  floor  impatiently  with  her 
foot. 

"Be  quick,  then!" 

"The  Count  arrived  here  on  the  first  of  the 
month,  almost  a  fortnight  ago.  Immediately 
on  his  arrival  he  went  out  in  a  cab,  and  re- 
turned somewhat  late  at  night,  looking  dazed 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          149 

and  ill.  From  that  moment  he  has  not  left  his 
room,  and  we  fear,  madam,  to  be  candid,  that 
he  is  losing  his  reason.  He  declines  to  go  out 
to  see  a  physician;  to  write  to  his  friends.  It 
is  pitiable  to  see  him,  especially  when  one  con- 
siders his  long  and  painful  imprisonment,  from 
which  he  has  only  just  been  released.  He 
would  not  listen  to  any  suggestions  or  advice 
from  us,  so  it  occurred  to  me  to  put  that  ad- 
vertisement in  the  paper  unknown  to  him. 
May  I  be  pardoned  if  I  beg  of  you  not  to 
mention  the  means  by  which  you  became  aware 
of  his  presence  here,  or  to  simply  state  that  you 
saw  his  arrival  chronicled  in  the  paper?  He 
may  regard  our  interference  in  the  light  of  a 
liberty,  although  it  was  solely  for  his  good." 

"It  was  a  liberty  to  take!"  she  answered 
coldly.  "I  will  not  promise  anything.  I  dare 
say  I  shall  not  mention  it." 

"There  is  one  thing  more  which  I  should  tell 
you,  madam,"  he  continued.  "Two  days  ago  a 
visitor  came  to  see  him,  having  noticed  in 
the  paper,  as  you  have  done,  the  paragraph  I 
inserted.  I  will  not  tell  you  her  name,  but  she 
was  cne  of  the  most  beautiful  and  distinguished 
Englishwomen  of  our  aristocracy,  and  from  the 
manner  of  her  departure,  I  could  not  help  com- 
ing to  the  conclusion  that  the  Count,  by  some 
means  or  other,  had  frightened  her  to  death. 


150         TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

She  was  nearly  fainting  as  she  came  down- 
stairs, and  she  has  not  been  here  since.  I  have 
no  reason,  beyond  what  I  have  told  you,  to 
doubt  the  Count's  sanity,  but  I  think  that  it  is 
right  for  you  to  know  this." 

"Very  well.  I  am  not  afraid.  Kindly  take 
me  to  him  at  once,  now !"  she  directed. 

He  led  her  out  of  the  apartment,  and  up 
the  broad  staircase.  Outside  the  door  of  the 
Count' s  sitting-room  he  paused. 

"Shall  I  announce  you,  madam?"  he  asked. 

"No !  Go  away !"  she  answered  shortly.  "I 
wish  to  enter  alone." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  NEW  MEMBER  FOR  THE  ORDER 

COUNT  MARIONI  sat  in  his  old  attitude, 
brooding  over  the  fire  from  the  depths  of  his 
armchair,  with  a  sad,  vacant  look  in  his  dull 
eyes.  At  first  he  took  no  notice  of  the  opening 
of  the  door,  but  as  the  light,  smooth  footsteps 
crossed  the  floor  toward  him  and  hesitated  at 
his  side,  he  glanced  wearily  up.  In  a  moment 
his  whole  expression  was  changed.  He  was 
like  a  numbed  and  torpid  figure  suddenly 
galvanized  into  acute  life. 

He  passed  his  hand  swiftly  across  his  eyes, 
and  his  thin  fingers  grasped  the  sides  of  his 
chair  with  nervous  force.  Ah!  he  must  be 
dreaming  again!  It  was  one  of  the  faces  of 
the  past,  tempting  and  mocking  him!  Yet, 
no!  she  stood  there;  surely  she  stood  there. 
Mother  of  God!  Was  this  madness  come  at 
last? 

"Margharita !"  he  cried,  stretching  out  his 
hands  toward  her.  "Margharita !" 

It  was  no  dream,  then,  nor  was  it  madness. 
It  was  truth.  There  were  loving,  clinging 


152          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

arms  around  his  neck,  a  passionate,  weeping 
face  pressed  close  against  his.  Hot  tears,  her 
tears,  were  tricking  down  his  hollow  cheeks, 
kindling  his  stagnant  blood  by  their  warmth, 
and  thawing  the  apathetic  chill  whose  icy  hand 
had  lain  so  heavy  upon  him.  A  sob  escaped 
him.  His  eager,  trembling  fingers  pushed  back 
the  clustering  hair  from  her  temples.  He 
peered  wonderingly  into  her  face.  It  must  be 
a  vision ;  it  would  surely  fade  away,  and  leave 
him  once  more  in  the  outer  darkness.  Five- 
and-twenty  years  had  passed!  She  had  been 
like  this  then !  A  sense  of  bewilderment  crept 
in  upon  him. 

"Margharita !"  he  exclaimed  feebly.  "I  do 
not  understand!  You  are  Margharita;  you 
have  her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  mouth!  And 
yet,  of  course,  it  cannot  be.  Ah,  no!  it  can- 
not be!" 

"You  are  thinking  of  my  mother,"  she  cried 
softly.  "She  loved  you  so  much.  I  am  like 
her,  am  I  not  ?" 

"Married!  Margharita  married!  Ah,  of 
course !  I  had  forgotten.  And  you  are  her 
child.  My  sister's  child.  Ah,  five-and-twenty 
years  is  a  long  time." 

"It  is  a  shameful,  cruel  time,"  she  cried 
passionately.  "My  mother  used  to  tell  me  of 
it,  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  her  voice  would 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    153 

shake  with  anger  and  pity.  Francesca,  too, 
would  talk  to  me  about  you.  I  prayed  for  you 
every  evening  when  I  was  little,  that  they 
might  soon  set  you  free  again.  Oh,  it  was 
cruel!" 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
he  rested  his  head  upon  her  shoulder.  It  was 
like  an  elixir  of  life  for  him. 

"And  your  mother,  Margharita?"  he  asked 
fearfully. 

"She  is  dead,"  was  the  low  reply. 

"Ah!  Margharita  dead!  She  was  so  like 
you,  child.  Dead!  Five-and-twenty  years  is 
a  weary  while.  Dead !" 

He  sighed,  and  his  tearless  eyes  looked 
thoughtfully  into  the  fire.  Memories  of  other 
days  were  rising  up  and  passing  before  him 
in  swift  procession.  He  saw  himself  and  her, 
orphan  brother  and  sister,  wandering  hand  in 
hand  over  their  beautiful  island  home,  with 
the  sea  wind  blowing  in  their  faces,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  mountains  which  towered  around 
them  entering  into  their  hearts.  Dear  to  them 
had  been  that  home,  dear  that  close  and 
precious  companionship.  They  had  talked  of 
the  life  which  lay  before  them — rose-colored 
and  joyous,  pregnant  with  glorious  oppor- 
tunities and  possibilities.  For  their  island 
and  the  larger  continent  close  at  hand  were 


154          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

convulsed  at  that  time  in  certain  patriotic 
efforts,  the  history  of  which  has  been  written 
into  the  history  of  Europe,  and  no  one  desired 
more  ardently  to  bear  a  hand  in  the  struggle 
than  young  Leonardo  di  Marioni.  Large 
hearted,  romantic,  and  with  an  imagination 
easily  fired,  he  was  from  the  first  a  dreamer, 
and  Margharita  had  ever  been  ready  to  share 
his  dreams.  The  blood  of  kings  was  in 
their  veins,  to  lead  him  on  to  great  things; 
and  she,  Margharita,  his  sister,  his  beloved 
sister,  should  be  the  mistress  of  his  destinies. 
Thus  they  had  talked,  thus  they  had  dreamed, 
and  now  from  the  other  side  of  the  gulf  he 
looked  backward,  and  saw  in  his  own  life, 
in  the  place  of  those  great  deeds  which  he 
had  hoped  to  accomplish,  one  black  miser- 
able chasm,  and  in  hers,  forgetfulness  of 
her  high  descent — for  she  had  married  this 
English  merchant's  son — and  the  grave.  Ah ! 
it  was  sad,  very  sad ! 

Her  soft  breath  upon  his  cheek  brought  him 
back  to  the  present.  He  looked  down  into 
her  face  with  such  a  wistful  fondness  that  it 
brought  the  tears  again  into  her  eyes. 

"Your  mother,  then,  married  Martin  Bris- 
coe?" 

"Yes." 

"And  he " 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    155 

"My  father,  too,  is  dead,"  she  answered 
sadly.  "I  am  an  orphan." 

"Ah!  And  now  you  live — with  whom  do 
you  live,  child?"  he  asked,  with  sudden  eager- 
ness. "Tell  me,  are  you  happy  ?" 

"I  am  miserable,"  she  cried  passionately. 

A  quiet  smile  flitted  across  his  face.  There 
was  hope.  It  was  well. 

"I  am  miserable.  Often  I  wish  that  I  were 
dead." 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  child,"  he  whispered. 
"I  have  a  right  to  know." 

She  sank  down  upon  the  floor,  and  rested 
her  head  upon  the  side  of  the  chair.  In  a 
moment  she  began. 

"I  think  that  I  was  quite  happy  when  I 
was  a  little  girl.  I  do  not  remember  very 
much  about  that  time,  or  about  my  mother, 
for  she  died  when  I  was  six  years  old.  Papa 
was  very  good  to  me,  but  he  was  stern  and 
cold  always.  I  do  not  think  that  he  ever 
smiled  after  mamma  died,  and  he  had  money 
troubles,  too.  A  bank  failed,  and  he  lost  a 
great  deal;  and  then  he  had  a  great  many 
shares  in  a  company  which  failed.  I  don't 
understand  much  about  it,  but  when  he  died 
three  years  ago  nearly  everything  he  had  went 
to  pay  people.  I  had  to  go  and  live  with 
my  father's  brother,  and  I  hate  it.  I  hate 


156          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

them  all — my  uncle,  my  aunt,  and  my  cousins. 
They  are  vulgar,  common  people.  They  are 
in  business,  and  they  are  fearfully  rich,  but 
their  manners  are  dreadful,  and  they  are 
always  talking  of  their  money.  They  have  no 
taste,  no  art,  no  refinement.  I  was  going  to 
leave  them,  when  I  heard  that  you  were  here. 
I  was  going  to  be  a  governess — yes,  even  earn 
my  own  bread — rather  than  stay  with  them 
any  longer.  I  hated  them  so,  and  their  life, 
and  everything  to  do  with  them.  Oh,  uncle, 
uncle,  let  me  live  with  you.  Let  us  go  away 
from  this  wretched  England.  Let  us  go  to 
some  southern  country  where  the  sun  is  warm, 
and  the  people  do  not  talk  of  their  money, 
and  there  are  beautiful  things  to  see  and 
admire.  It  is  ugly  and  cold  here,  and  I  am 
weary  of  it." 

She  broke  off  in  a  sudden  fit  of  sobbing. 
He  took  her  face  gently  in  his  hands,  and 
held  it  up  to  him.  It  was  he,  now,  who  was 
to  play  the  part  of  consoler. 

"Margharita,  I  am  a  lonely  old  man  whose 
life  is  well  nigh  spent.  Yet,  if  you  will  come 
to  me,  if  you  will  really  live  with  me,  then 
you  will  make  my  last  days  happy.  When  I 
die  all  that  I  have  will  be  yours.  It  is  settled, 
is  it  not?" 

Like  summer  lightning  the  tempest  of  her 


TO  WIN   THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          157 

grief  died  away,  and  her  face  was  brilliant 
with  smiles. 

"I  will  never,  never  leave  you,  uncle,"  she 
cried  joyously.  "We  will  live  together  always. 
Oh,  how  happy  we  shall  be !" 

Then  she  looked  at  him — looked  at  his 
shrunken  limbs  and  worn,  pinched  face,  and 
a  sudden  darkening  fire  kindled  in  her  face. 
She  stamped  her  foot,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
angrily.  The  sight  of  him  reminded  her  that, 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned  at  least,  their 
happiness  could  not  be  of  very  long  duration. 
The  finger  of  death  had  laid  its  mark  upon 
that  ashen  gray  face.  It  was  written  there. 

"How  I  hate  them!"  she  cried.  "Those 
cruel,  wicked  people,  who  kept  you  in  prison  all 
these  years.  I  should  like  to  kill  them  all — to 
see  them  die  here  before  us.  I  would  not  spare 
one — not  one!" 

He  thrust  her  away,  and  started  to  his  feet 
a  changed  man.  The  old  fires  had  leaped  up 
anew;  the  old  hate,  the  old  desire,  was  as 
strong  as  ever  within  him.  She  looked  at 
him,  startled  and  wondering.  His  very  form 
seemed  dilated  with  passion. 

"Child!"  he  cried,  "have  you  ever  heard 
the  story  of  my  seizure  and  imprisonment? 
No,  you  have  not.  You  shall  hear  it.  You 
shall  judge  between  me  and  them.  Listen! 


158          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

When  I  was  a  young  man,  Italy  seemed 
trembling  on  the  verge  of  a  revolution.  The 
history  of  it  all  you  know.  You  know  that 
the  country  was  honeycombed  with  secret 
societies,  more  or  less  dangerous.  To  one  of 
these  I  belonged.  We  called  our  Order  the 
'Order  of  the  White  Hyacinth/  We  were 
all  young,  ardent  and  impetuous,  and  we 
imagined  ourselves  the  apostles  of  the  coming 
liberation.  Yet  we  never  advocated  blood- 
shed; we  never  really  transgressed  the  law. 
We  gave  lectures,  we  published  pamphlets. 
We  were  a  set  of  boy  dreamers  with  wild 
theories — communists,  most  of  us.  But  there 
was  not  one  who  would  not  have  died  to  save 
our  country  the  misery  of  civil  war — not  one, 
not  one!  Even  women  wore  our  flower,  and 
were  admitted  associates  of  our  Order.  We 
pledged  ourselves  that  our  aims  were  blood- 
less. No  society  that  ever  existed  was  more 
harmless  than  ours.  I  say  it!  I  swear  it! 
Bear  me  witness,  oh,  my  God,  if  what  I  say, 
be  not  true !" 

He  was  a  strong  man  again.  The  apathy 
was  gone;  his  reason  was  saved.  He  stood 
before  this  dark,  tall  girl,  who,  with  clasped 
hands,  was  drinking  in  every  word,  and  he 
spoke  with  all  the  swelling  dignity  of  one  who 
has  suffered  unjustly. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    159 

"By  some  means  or  other  our  society  fell 
under  the  suspicion  of  the  government.  The 
edict  went  forth  that  we  should  be  broken  up. 
We  heard  the  mandate  with  indignation.  We 
were  young  and  hot-blooded,  and  we  were 
conscious  that  we  had  done  no  harm — that  we 
were  innocent  of  the  things  ascribed  to  us. 
We  swore  that  we  would  carry  on  our  society, 
but  in  secret.  Before  then,  everything  had 
been  open;  we  had  had  a  recognized  meeting 
place,  the  public  had  attended  our  lectures, 
ladies  had  worn  the  white  hyacinth  openly  at 
receptions  and  balls.  Now,  all  was  changed. 
We  met  in  secret  and  under  a  ban.  Still  our 
aim  was  harmless.  One  clause  alone  was 
added  to  our  rules  of  a  different  character, 
and  we  all  subscribed  to — 'Vengeance  upon 
traitors!'  We  swore  it  solemnly  one  to  the 
other — 'Vengeance  upon  traitors !' ' 

"Ah!  if  I  had  lived  in  those  days  I  would 
have  worn  your  flower  at  the  court  of  the 
king,"  she  cried,  with  glowing  cheeks. 

He  pressed  her  hand  in  silence,  and  con- 
tinued. 

"As  time  went  on,  and  things  grew  still  more 
unsettled  in  the  country,  a  species  of  inquisition 
was  established.  The  eyes  of  the  law  were 
everywhere.  They  fell  upon  us.  One  night 
ten  of  us  were  arrested  as  we  left  our  meeting 


160    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

place.  We  were  all  noble,  and  the  families  of 
my  companions  were  powerful.  I  was  looked 
upon  as  the  ringleader;  and  upon  me  fell  the 
most  severe  sentence.  I  was  banished  from 
Italian  soil  for  ten  years,  with  the  solemn 
warning  that  death  would  be  my  lot  if  I  ven- 
tured to  return." 

"It  was  atrocious!" 

He  held  up  his  hand. 

"Margharita,  in  those  days  I  loved.  Her 
name  was  Adrienne.  She,  too,  was  an  orphan, 
and  although  she  was  of  noble  birth,  she  was 
poor,  as  we  Marionis  were  poor  also.  She  had 
a  great  gift ;  she  was  a  singer ;  and,  sooner  than 
be  dependent  upon  her  relatives,  she  had  sung 
at  concerts  and  operas,  until  all  Europe  knew 
of  her  fame.  When  I  was  exiled  I  was  given 
seven  days  in  which  to  make  my  adieux.  I 
went  to  her,  and  declared  my  love.  She  did 
not  absolutely  reject  me,  nor  did  she  accept 
me.  She  asked  for  time  for  consideration.  I 
could  give  her  none!  I  begged  her  to  leave 
the  country  with  me.  Alas!  she  would  not! 
Perhaps  I  was  too  passionate,  too  precipitate! 
It  may  have  been  so;  I  cannot  say.  I  went 
away  alone  and  left  her.  I  plunged  into  gay 
life  at  Paris;  I  dwelt  among  the  loneliest 
mountains  of  Switzerland;  I  endured  the  dull- 
ness of  this  cold  gray  London,  and  the  dissi- 


pation  of  Vienna.  It  was  all  in  vain !  One  by 
one  they  palled  upon  me.  No  manner  of  life, 
no  change  of  scene,  could  cure  me  of  my  love. 
I  fell  ill,  and  I  knew  that  my  heart  was  break- 
ing. You  and  I,  Margharita,  come  of  a  race 
whose  love  and  hatred  are  eternal !" 

She  crept  into  his  arms;  and  he  went  on, 
holding  her  there. 

"Back  I  came  at  the  peril  of  my  life;  con- 
tent to  die,  if  it  were  only  at  her  feet.  I  found 
her  cold  and  changed;  blaming  me  even  for 
my  rashness,  desiring  even  my  absence.  Not  a 
word  of  pity  to  sweeten  those  weary  days  of 
exile;  not  a  word  of  hope  to  repay  me  for  all 
that  I  had  risked  to  see  her  again.  Soon  I 
knew  the  reason — another  love  had  stolen  away 
her  heart.  There  was  an  Englishman — one  of 
those  cursed  Englishmen — visiting  her  daily 
at  Palermo;  and  she  told  me  calmly  one  day 
that  she  loved  him,  arM  intended  to  become 
his  wife.  She  forgot  my  long  years  of  devoted 
service;  she  forgot  her  own  unspoken,  yet 
understood,  promise;  she  forgot  all  that  I  had 
suffered  for  her;  she  forgot  that  her  words 
must  sound  to  me  as  the  death  warrant  of  all 
joy  and  happiness  in  this  world.  And  she 
forgot,  too,  that  I  was  a  Marioni!  Was  I 
wrong,  I  wonder,  Margharita,  that  I  quarreled 
with  him!  You  are  a  child,  and  yet  my 


1 62    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

instinct  tells  me  that  you  have  a  woman's 
judgment!  Tell  me,  should  I  have  stepped 
aside,  and  let  him  win  her,  without  a 
blow?" 

"You  would  have  been  a  coward  if  you  had !" 
she  cried.  "You  fought  him!  Tell  me  that 
you  fought  him?" 

"Margharita,  you  are  a  true  daughter  of 
your  country!"  the  old  man  cried.  "You  are 
a  Marioni!  Listen!  I  insulted  him!  He 
declined  to  fight!  I  struck  him  across  the 
face  in  a  public  restaurant,  and  forced  him  to 
accept  my  challenge.  The  thing  was  arranged. 
We  stood  face  to  face  on  the  sand,  sword  in 
hand.  The  word  had  been  given!  His  life 
was  at  my  mercy;  but  mind,  Margharita,  I 
had  no  thought  of  taking  it  without  giving 
him  a  fair  chance.  I  intended  to  wait  until 
my  sword  was  at  his  throat,  and  then  I  would 
have  said  to  him,  'Give  up  the  woman  whom 
I  have  loved  all  my  life,  and  go  unhurt !'  He 
himself  should  have  chosen.  Was  not  that 
fair?" 

"Fair!  It  was  generous!  Go  on!  Go 
on!" 

"The  word  had  been  given;  our  swords 
were  crossed.  And  at  that  moment,  she, 
Adrienne,  the  woman  whom  I  loved,  stood 
before  us.  With  her  were  Italian  police  come 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          163 

to  arrest  me!  There  was  one  letter  alone  of 
mine,  written  in  a  hasty  moment,  which  could 
have  been  used  in  evidence  against  me  at  my 
former  trial,  and  which  would  have  secured  for 
me  a  harsher  sentence.  That  letter  had  fallen 
into  her  hands;  and  she  had  given  it  over  to 
my  bitter  enemy,  the  chief  of  the  Italian  police. 
I  was  betrayed,  betrayed  by  the  woman  whom  I 
had  braved  all  dangers  to  see !  It  was  she  who 
had  brought  them ;  she  who — without  remorse 
or  hesitation — calmly  handed  me  over  to 
twenty-five  years'  captivity  in  a  prison  cell !" 

Margharita  freed  herself  from  his  arms. 
She  was  very  pale,  and  her  limbs  were 
shaking.  But  what  a  fire  in  those  dark, 
cruel  eyes. 

"Go  on !  Go  on !"  she  cried.  "Let  me  hear 
the  rest." 

"Then,  as  I  stood  there,  Margharita,  love 
shriveled  up,  and  hate  reigned  in  its  place. 
The  memory  of  the  oath  of  our  Order  flashed 
into  my  mind.  A  curtain  seemed  raised  before 
my  eyes.  I  saw  the  long  narrow  room  of  our 
meeting  place.  I  saw  the  dark,  faithful  faces 
of  my  comrades.  I  heard  their  firm  voices — 
'Vengeance  upon  traitors,  vengeance  upon 
traitors!'  She,  too,  this  woman  who  had 
betrayed  me,  had  worn  our  flower  upon  her 
bosom  and  in  her  hair!  She  had  come  under 


164          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE   HE   SOUGHT 

the  ban  of  that  oath.  Margharita,  I  threw  my 
sword  into  the  sea,  and  I  raised  my  clasped 
hands  to  the  sky,  and  I  swore  that,  were  it  the 
last  day  of  my  life,  the  day  of  my  release  should 
see  me  avenged.  Let  them  hide  in  the  utter- 
most corners  of  the  earth,  I  cried,  that  false 
woman  and  her  English  lover,  still  I  would  find 
them  out,  and  they  should  taste  of  my  ven- 
geance! To  my  trial  I  went,  with  that  oath 
written  in  my  heart.  I  carried  it  with  me  into 
my  prison  cell,  and  day  by  day  and  year  by 
year  I  repeated  it  to  myself.  It  kept  me  alive ; 
the  desire  of  it  grew  into  my  being.  Even 
now  it  burns  in  my  heart ! 

"During  my  captivity  I  was  allowed  to  see 
my  lawyer,  and  I  made  over  by  deed  so  much, 
to  be  paid  every  year  to  the  funds  of  our  Order 
at  the  London  Branch,  for  our  headquarters 
had  been  moved  there  after  my  first  arrest.  Day 
by  day  I  dreamed  of  the  time  when  I  should 
stand,  a  martyr  in  their  cause,  before  my  old 
comrades,  and  demand  of  them  the  vengeance 
which  was  my  due.  I  imagined  them,  one  by 
one,  grasping  my  hand,  full  of  deep,  silent  sym- 
pathy with  my  long  sufferings.  I  heard  again 
the  oath  which  we  had  sworn — 'Vengeance 
upon  traitors,  vengeance  upon  traitors!'  It 
was  the  music  which  kept  me  alive,  the  hope 
which  nourished  my  life !" 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          165 

The  dark  eyes  glowed  upon  him  like  stars, 
and  her  voice  trembled  with  eagerness. 

"You  have  been  to  them?  You  will  be 
avenged !  Tell  me  that  it  is  so  ?" 

A  little  choking  sob  escaped  from  him.  The 
numbness  was  passing  away  from  his  heart  and 
senses.  His  sorrows  were  becoming  human, 
and  demanding  human  expression. 

"Alas,  Margharita,  alas!"  he  cried,  with 
drooping  head,  "the  bitterest  disappointment 
of  my  life  came  upon  me  all  unawares.  While 
I  have  lain  rotting  in  prison  history  has  turned 
over  many  pages.  The  age  for  secret  societies 
has  gone  by.  The  'Order  of  the  White 
Hyacinth'  is  no  more — worse  than  that,  its 
very  name  has  been  dragged  through  the  dust. 
One  by  one  the  old  members  fell  away;  its 
sacred  aims  were  forgotten.  The  story  of  its 
downward  path  will  never  be  written.  A  few 
coarse,  ignorant  men  meet  in  a  pothouse,  night 
by  night,  to  spend  the  money  I  sent  in  beer 
and  foul  tobacco.  That  is  the  end  of  the 
'Order  of  the  White  Hyacinth !'  " 

Margharita  looked  like  a  beautiful  wild 
animal  in  her  passion.  Her  hair  had  fallen 
all  over  her  face,  and  was  streaming  down  her 
back.  Her  small  white  hand  was  clenched 
and  upraised,  and  her  straight,  supple  figure, 
panther-like  in  its  grace,  was  distended  until 


166          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

she  towered  over  the  little  shrunken  form  be- 
fore her.  Terrible  was  the  gleam  in  her  eyes, 
and  terrible  the  fixed  rigidity  of  her  features. 
Yet  she  was  as  beautiful  as  a  young  goddess  in 
her  wrath. 

"No!"  she  cried  fiercely,  "the  Order  shall 
not  die !  You  belong  to  it  still ;  and  I — I,  too, 
swear  the  oath  of  vengeance!  Together  we 
will  hunt  her  down — this  woman!  She  shall 
suffer!" 

"She  shall  die!"  he  cried. 

A  slight  shudder  passed  across  the  girl's 
face,  but  she  repeated  his  words. 

"She  shall  die!  But,  uncle,  you  are  ill. 
What  is  it?" 

She  chafed  his  hands  and  held  him  up.  He 
had  fainted. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  RETURN  TO  REASON 

"WHERE  am  I,  Margharita?" 

She  leaned  over  him,  and  drew  a  long 
deep  breath  of  relief.  It  was  the  reward  of 
many  weary  days  and  nights  of  constant 
watching  and  careful  nursing.  His  reason 
was  saved. 

"In  your  own  room  at  the  hotel,"  she  whis- 
pered. "Don't  you  remember?  You  were 
taken  ill." 

He  looked  at  her,  helpless  and  puzzled. 
Slowly  the  mists  began  to  roll  away. 

"Yes,  you  were  with  me,"  he  murmured 
softly.  "I  remember  now.  I  was  telling  you 
the  story  of  the  past — my  past.  You  are 
Margharita's  child.  Yes,  I  remember.  Was 
it  this  afternoon  ?" 

She  kissed  his  forehead,  and  then  drew  back 
suddenly,  lest  the  warm  tear  which  was  quiver- 
ing on  her  eyelid  should  fall  back  upon  his  face. 

"It  was  three  weeks  ago !" 

"Three  weeks  ago !"  He  looked  wonderingly 

around — at  the  little  table  at  his  side,  where  a 

167 


1 68    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

huge  bowl  of  sweet-scented  roses  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  little  army  of  empty  medicine 
bottles,  at  Margharita's  pale,  wan  face,  and  at 
a  couch  drawn  up  to  the  bedside.  "And  you 
have  been  nursing  me  all  the  time?"  he 
whispered. 

She  smiled  brightly  through  the  tears  which 
she  could  not  hide. 

"Of  course  I  have.  Who  has  a  better  right, 
I  should  like  to  know?" 

He  sighed  and  closed  his  eyes.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  was  asleep. 

For  a  fortnight  his  life  had  hung  upon  a 
thread,  and  even  when  the  doctor  had  declared 
him  out  of  danger,  the  question  of  his  sanity 
or  insanity  quivered  upon  the  balance  for 
another  week.  He  would  either  awake  per- 
fectly reasonable,  in  all  respects  his  old  self, 
or  he  would  open  his  eyes  upon  a  world,  the 
keynote  to  which  he  had  lost  forever.  In 
other  words  he  would  either  awake  a  perfectly 
sane  man,  or  hopelessly  and  incurably  insane. 
There  would  be  no  middle  course.  That  was 
the  doctor's  verdict. 

And  through  all  those  long  days  and  nights 
Margharita  had  watched  over  him  as  though 
he  had  been  her  own  father.  All  the  passionate 
sympathy  of  her  warm  southern  nature  had 
been  kindled  by  the  story  of  his  wrongs.  Day 


TO  WIN   THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          169 

by  day  the  sight  of  his  helpless  suffering  had 
increased  her  indignation  toward  those  whom 
she  really  believed  to  have  bitterly  wronged 
him.  Through  those  long  quiet  days  and 
silent  nights,  she  had  brooded  upon  them. 
She  never  for  one  moment  repented  of  having 
allied  herself  to  that  wild  oath  of  vengeance, 
whose  echoes  often  at  dead  of  night  seemed 
still  to  ring  in  her  ears.  Her  only  fear  was 
that  he  would  emerge  from  the  fierce  illness 
under  which  he  was  laboring,  so  weakened  and 
shaken,  that  the  desire  of  his  life  should  have 
passed  from  him.  She  had  grown  to  love  this 
shrunken  old  man.  In  her  girlhood  she  had 
heard  stories  of  him  from  her  nurse,  and  many 
times  the  hot  tears  had  stood  in  her  eyes  as 
she  conjured  up  to  herself  that  pathetic  figure, 
waiting  and  waiting,  year  by  year,  for  that 
liberty  which  was  to  come  only  with  old  age. 
She  had  thought  of  him,  sad-eyed  and  weary, 
pacing  his  lonely  prison  cell,  and  ever  watching 
through  his  barred  window  the  little  segment 
of  blue  sky  and  sunlight  which  penetrated  into 
the  high-walled  court.  How  he  must  long  for 
the  scent  of  flowers,  the  fresh  open  air,  the 
rustle  of  leaves,  and  the  hum  of  moving  insects. 
How  his  heart  must  ache  for  the  sound  of  men's 
voices,  the  touch  of  their  hands,  some  sense  of 
loving  or  friendly  companionship  to  break  the 


170          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

icy  monotony  of  his  weary,  stagnant  existence. 
Her  imagination  had  been  touched,  and  she 
had  been  all  ready  to  welcome  and  to  love  him 
as  a  hero  and  a  martyr,  even  if  he  had  appealed 
to  her  in  no  other  way.  But  when  she  had 
seen  him  stricken  down  and  helpless,  with  that 
look  of  ineffable  sadness  in  his  soft  dark  eyes, 
it  was  more  than  her  sympathy  which  was 
aroused,  more  than  her  imagination  which  was 
stirred.  Her  large  pitying  heart  became  his 
absolutely.  She  was  alone  in  the  world,  and 
she  must  needs  love  some  one.  For  good  or 
for  evil,  fate  had  brought  this  strange  old  man 
to  her,  and  woven  this  tie  between  them. 

That  night  she  scarcely  slept  at  all,  and 
before  daybreak  she  stole  softly  over  to  the 
window  and  looked  out.  The  roar  of  the  great 
city  was  hushed  and  silent.  Below,  the  streets 
and  squares  were  white  and  empty  in  the  gray 
light  of  the  approaching  dawn.  The  mists 
were  rising  from  the  river,  and  the  yellow 
light  was  dying  out  of  the  room.  Away  east- 
ward, there  was  a  break  in  the  sky,  a  long 
thin  line  of  amber  light  which  widened  even 
while  she  watched  it.  Below,  the  sky  was  red, 
a  dull  brick  red,  as  though  the  yellow  fog  had 
mingled  with  the  fainter  and  rosier  coloring. 
Gradually  the  two  came  nearer  together.  In 
the  distance  a  cock  crew,  and  a  cab  drove 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          171 

across  the  empty  square  at  the  end  of  the 
street.  A  lamplighter  came  round  the  corner, 
whistling,  and,  one  by  one,  the  row  of  gaslights 
beneath  were  extinguished.  Even  in  that 
moment  or  two  a  brighter  shade  had  stolen 
into  the  eastern  sky.  That  bank  of  dull  purple 
clouds  was  breaking  away,  and  a  few  brilliant 
specks  of  cloudlets  were  shot  up  toward  St. 
Paul's.  Then  the  sun  showed  a  rim,  and 
almost  its  first  pale  beam  quivered  upon  the 
great  church  dome,  traveled  across  a  thousand 
slate  roofs,  and  fell  upon  the  girl's  white,  up- 
turned face,  and  across  the  white  coverlet. 

"Margharita !" 

She  turned  round  quickly.  He  was  sitting 
up  in  bed,  and  the  sunbeam  was  traveling  up 
toward  him. 

"Are  you  awake?  Did  I  disturb  you?"  she 
asked  tenderly. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  been  awake,  thinking.  I  remember 
being  taken  ill.  I  remember  everything.  Tell 
me.  I  must  know.  Did  you — did  you  mean — 
everything  you  said  ?  You  pitied  me,  and  my 
story  made  you  sad.  I  would  not  hold  you  to 
your  word." 

She  drew  herself  up;  she  was  pale  no 
longer ;  the  color  burned  in  her  cheeks. 

"I  am  a  Marioni!"  she  answered  proudly. 


172  TO  WIN   THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

"Every  word  I  said  seems  to  me  now  too 
weak.  That  is  the  only  change." 

He  held  out  his  hands;  she  grasped  them 
fondly. 

"Margharita,  she  came  here !"  he  whispered. 

"What,  here?    Here  in  this  room?" 

He  nodded. 

"It  was  two  days  before  you  came.  I  was 
sitting  alone  in  the  twilight.  The  door  opened. 
I  thought  I  was  dreaming.  It  was  she,  as 
beautiful  as  ever,  richly  dressed,  happy, 
comely.  She  came  to  pity,  to  sue  for  pardon. 
I  let  her  talk,  and  then,  when  I  had  gathered 
strength,  I  stood  up  and  cursed  her.  I  thrust 
her  away;  I  cursed  her  with  the  fiercest  and 
cruelest  words  which  my  lips  could  utter.  It 
drove  the  warm  color  from  her  cheeks,  and  the 
light  from  her  eyes.  I  cursed  her  till  her  heart 
shook  with  fear.  She  staggered  out  of  the 
room  a  stricken  woman.  I " 

"Tell  me  her  name." 

"It  was  Adrienne  Cartuccio.  It  is  now  Lady 
Maurice." 

"The  Lady  St.  Maurice!  She  was  my 
mother's  friend  then?" 

"Yes." 

Margharita's  eyes  were  bright,  and  her 
voice  trembled. 

"Listen !"  she  cried.    "When  my  mother  was 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          173 

dying  she  gave  me  a  letter.  If  ever  you  need 
a  friend  or  help,"  she  whispered,  "go  to  Lady 
St.  Maurice.  This  letter  is  to  her.  She  will 
help  you  for  my  sake.  Uncle,  fate  is  on  our 
side.  Just  before  I  came  to  you  I  wrote  to 
Lady  St.  Maurice.  I  told  her  that  I  was  un- 
happy in  my  life,  and  I  wished  for  a  situation 
as  a  governess.  I  sent  her  my  mother's  letter." 

"And  she  replied?" 

"Yes.  She  offered  me  a  home.  If  I  wished 
I  could  teach  her  little  girl." 

Her  voice  was  trembling,  and  her  eyes,  dry 
and  brilliant,  were  fixed  upon  his.  He  was 
sitting  upright  in  bed,  leaning  a  little  forward 
toward  her,  and  the  sunbeam  which  had  stolen 
in  through  the  parted  curtains  fell  upon  his 
white  corpse-like  face.  A  strange  look  was  in 
his  eyes;  his  fingers  clutched  the  bedclothes 
nervously. 

"You  will — go?"  he  asked  hoarsely.  "You 
will  go  to  Lady  St.  Maurice  ?" 

An  answering  light  shot  back  from  her 
eyes.  She  was  suddenly  pale  to  the  lips.  Her 
voice  was  hushed  as  though  in  fear,  but  it  was 
firm. 

"Yes,  I  shall  go.  To-night  I  shall  accept  her 
offer." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

"l  HAVE  A  FEAR — A  FOOLISH  FEAR" 

"GEOFF,  it's  the  most  extraordinary  thing  in 
the  world." 

"What  is  it,  dear  ?"  he  asked,  throwing  down 
his  newspaper  on  the  breakfast  table,  and  light- 
ing a  cigarette.  "Tell  me  about  it." 

"Listen." 

She  read  the  letter,  which  was  open  in  her 
hands,  and  he  listened  thoughtfully,  leaning 
back  in  the  high-backed  oak  chair,  and  watch- 
ing the  blue  smoke  from  his  cigarette  curl  up- 
ward to  the  ceiling. 

"LONDON,  Thursday. 

"DEAR  LADY  ST.  MAURICE:  I  have  delayed 
answering  your  letter  for  some  time,  longer 
than  may  seem  courteous  to  you,  owing  to  the 
illness  of  a  member  of  the  family  with  whom  I 
have  been  living.  I  trust,  however,  that  you 
will  not  consider  it  too  late  for  me  to  thank  you 
heartily  for  your  generous  offer  to  me,  which, 
if  we  can  agree  upon  one  point,  I  shall  be  most 
happy  and  grateful  to  accept.  You  have  a 
little  girl,  you  tell  me,  and  no  governess.  If 

174 


you  will  allow  me  to  fill  the  latter  position, 
which  I  believe  that  I  am  quite  capable  of 
doing,  I  shall  be  glad  to  come.  I  could  not 
feel  myself  at  ease  in  becoming  one  of  your 
household  on  any  other  footing.  Hoping  to 
hear  from  you  soon,  I  am,  yours  sincerely, 
"MARGHARITA  BRISCOE." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing  ?"  Lady 
St.  Maurice  exclaimed.  "Margharita's  child, 
my  governess.  I  call  it  very  stupid  pride." 

Lord  St.  Maurice  shook  his  head. 

"I  think  you  are  wrong,  dear.  After  all,  you 
must  remember  that  you  are  a  complete 
stranger  to  her." 

"That  has  been  her  mother's  fault.  Mar- 
gharita  never  exactly  blamed  me  for  what  I  did 
at  Palermo,  but  she  always  felt  bitterly  for  her 
brother,  and  she  could  not  forget  that  it  was 
my  hand  which  had  sent  him  to  prison.  It 
was  very  unreasonable  of  her,  but,  after  all,  one 
can  understand  her  feeling.  Still,  this  girl  of 
hers  can  have  no  such  feeling  toward  me." 

"Of  course  not ;  but,  none  the  less,  as  I  said 
before,  you  are  a  complete  stranger  to  her," 
Lord  St.  Maurice  answered.  "Her  parentage 
is  just  the  sort  to  have  given  her  those  inde- 
pendent ideas,  and  I'm  inclined  to  think  that 
she  is  quite  right." 


176          TO  WIN   THE   LOVE   HE   SOUGHT 

Lady  St.  Maurice  sighed. 

"I  would  have  been  only  too  happy  to  have 
welcomed  her  as  a  daughter,"  she  said.  "I 
dare  say  you  are  right,  Geoff.  I  shall  write 
and  tell  her  to  come." 

She  walked  away  to  the  window,  looking 
across  the  pine-bound  cliffs  to  the  sea.  Time 
had  dealt  with  her  very  leniently,  as  indeed  he 
needs  must  with  those  whose  life  is  like  one 
long  summer's  day.  Her  brow  was  still 
smooth,  and  her  hair,  rich  and  soft  as  ever,  had 
not  a  single  tinge  of  gray.  Her  figure,  too,  was 
perfect;  the  lithe  gracefulness  of  youth  had 
only  ripened  into  the  majesty  of  dignified 
womanhood.  There  was  not  a  society  paper 
which  did  not  sometimes  allude  to  her  as  "the 
beautiful  Lady  St.  Maurice." 

But  just  at  that  moment  her  eyes  were  sad, 
and  her  face  was  troubled.  Her  husband, 
looking  up  suddenly,  saw  it,  and  throwing 
down  his  paper,  walked  across  the  room  to  her 
side. 

"Adrienne,  what  is  it,  little  woman?"  he 
asked  fondly. 

"I  was  thinking  of  poor  Leonardo,"  she 
answered.  "Geoffrey,  it  is  very  foolish  to  let 
it  trouble  me,  is  it  not  ?" 

"Very,  darling.    Why  should  it  ?" 

"Do  you  remember  how  terrible  he  looked 


TO   WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  177 

when  they  arrested  him  on  the  sands,  and 
those  fierce  threatening  words  of  his?  Even 
now  I  can  hear  them  sometimes  in  my  ears." 

"Foolish  little  woman." 

"I  cannot  help  it.  This  girl's  letter,  with  its 
note  of  proud  independence,  brings  it  all  back 
to  me.  Geoffrey,  Leonardo  di  Marioni  comes 
of  a  race  who  pride  themselves  more  than  any- 
thing upon  keeping  their  word  in  love  and  in 
hate.  You  can  scarcely  understand  their  fierce 
passionate  nature.  I  have  always  felt  that 
when  the  day  of  his  release  came  he  would 
remember  his  oath,  and  strive  to  work  some 
evil  upon  us." 

Lord  St.  Maurice  passed  his  arm  around  his 
wife's  waist,  with  a  reassuring  smile. 

"It  is  five-and- twenty  years  ago,  love.  Is 
not  that  enough  to  set  your  fears  at  rest  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  without  a  smile,  grave  and 
serious. 

"The  five-and-twenty  years  are  up,  Geoffrey. 
Leonardo  is  free!" 

"What  of  it?"  he  answered  carelessly.  "If 
he  has  not  forgotten  us  altogether,  what  harm 
could  he  do  us  ?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  around  his  neck,  and 
looked  into  his  face. 

"Geoffrey,  I  have  a  confession  to  make,"  she 
whispered.  "Will  you  forgive  me  ?" 


1 78    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"It's  a  rash  promise,  but  I'll  chance  it,"  he 
answered,  smoothing  her  hair  and  smiling 
down  into  her  upturned  face. 

"Geoffrey,  he  is  in  London.  I  have  seen 
him/' 

He  looked  a  little  surprised,  but  he  did  not 
draw  away. 

"Seen 'him!   Where?    When?" 

"Do  you  remember  the  day  when  I  was  to 
have  called  for  you  at  the  'Travelers,'  and 
you  waited  for  me,  and  I  did  not  come  ?  Yes, 
I  know  that  you  do.  Well,  I  did  come,  really, 
but  as  I  sat  in  the  carriage  waiting,  I  took  up 
the  Morning  Post  and  I  read  an  advertisement 
there,  signed  by  the  manager  of  the  Continental 
Hotel.  It  was  inquiring  for  any  friend  or  rela- 
tive of  Count  Leonardo  di  Marioni,  who  was 
lying  there  dangerously  ill  and  alone. 
Geoffrey,  of  course  I  ought  to  have  waited  for 
you,  but  I  am  impulsive  sometimes,  and  I  was 
then.  I  thought  that  if  I  could  see  him  alone 
for  the  first  time,  that  I  might  win  his  for- 
giveness, and  so  I  drove  there  at  once.  They 
showed  me  into  his  room ;  he  was  sitting  over 
the  fire,  a  miserable,  shrunken  little  figure, 
wasted  to  a  shadow.  Ah,  how  my  heart  ached 
to  see  him.  Geoffrey,  I  knelt  by  his  side;  I 
spoke  to  him  as  tenderly  as  I  could  to  one  of 
my  own  children;  and  then  he  turned  a  white 


179 

corpse-like  face  upon  me,  and  spoke  words 
which  God  grant  I  may  some  day  forget.  I  do 
not  believe  that  human  lips  have  ever  framed 
such  hideous  curses.  How  I  got  down  to  the 
carriage,  I  do  not  know.  You  are  not  angry 
with  me,  Geoffrey?" 

"Angry?  why  no,  love,"  he  answered  ten- 
derly. "You  did  it  for  the  best.  What  a  vin- 
dictive little  beggar." 

"Geoffrey,  I  can't  help  thinking  that  some 
day,  if  he  recovers,  he  will  try  to  do  you  or  me 
a  mischief." 

Lord  St.  Maurice  laughed  outright. 

"We  are  not  in  Sicily,"  he  answered  lightly. 

"What  could  he  do  to  either  of  us  ?  Am  I  not 
big  enough  to  protect  myself,  and  take  care  of 
you  ?  I  tell  you  what,  Adrienne,  why  shouldn't 
I  go  and  see  him  when  I  am  in  London  next 
week?" 

"You!"  She  shuddered  and  clasped  him 
tightly.  "Geoffrey,  promise  me  at  once  that 
you  will  not  go  near  him,"  she  begged. 
"Promise  me !" 

"On  one  condition." 

"What  is  it?" 

"That  you  will  give  up  troubling  about  this 


nonsense." 


"I  will  try,"  she  promised. 

"That's  right.     Now  put  on  your  hat,  and 


l8o    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

come  for  a  run  on  the  cliff.  I  can't  have  you 
looking  so  pale." 

He  walked  to  the  door  with  her  and  opened 
it,  kissing  her  forehead  as  she  passed  through. 
She  looked  up  at  him  fondly,  and  the  quiet 
pleasure  which  glowed  for  a  moment  in  her 
cheeks  and  shone  in  her  eyes  made  her  look 
once  more  like  a  girl  of  twenty.  A  woman's 
greatest  happiness  had  been  hers.  In  middle 
age  her  husband  was  still  her  lover. 

"Forgive  me  for  being  silly,"  she  whispered. 
"I  can't  help  it.  Our  life  has  been  so  happy 
that  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  a  cloud  of  any  sort 
coming  over  it,  even  for  a  very  short  while." 

"The  only  cloud  we  have  to  fear  is  that  big 
fellow  yonder  over  Gorton  point,"  he  laughed. 

"Better  bring  your  mackintosh  down.  I 
shall  not  shoot  to-day  until  I  have  seen  some 
color  in  your  cheeks." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE   NEW   GOVERNESS 

NONE  of  the  little  household  at  Mallory 
Grange,  Lord  St.  Maurice's  Norfolk  seat,  ever 
forgot  Margharita's  first  appearance  among 
them.  She  came  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 
was  shown  into  Lady  St.  Maurice's  own  little 
sitting  room,  without  the  ceremony  of  an  an- 
nouncement. Lady  St.  Maurice  had  many  kind 
words  ready  to  say,  but  the  sight  of  the  figure 
who  crossed  the  threshold,  and  came  out  of  the 
dusk  toward  the  center  of  the  room,  struck  her 
dumb.  She  stood  up  for  a  moment  perfectly 
silent,  with  her  hand  pressed  to  her  side.  Such 
a  likeness  was  marvelous.  In  this  girl's  proud, 
dark  face  she  could  recall  Leonardo's  features 
one  by  one.  The  air  seemed  suddenly  full  of 
voices,  sobbing  and  cursing  and  threatening. 
Then  she  came  to  herself,  and  held  out  her 
hand — forced  her  lips  even  to  wear  a  kindly 
welcoming  smile. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  have  you  here,  Mar- 
gharita,"  she  said.  "Do  you  know  that  your 
likeness  to  your  mother — and  her  family — 
has  startled  me.  It  is  wonderful." 

181 


1 82    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"It  is  very  nice  to  hear  you  say  so,"  the  girl 
answered,  taking  the  chair  which,  at  Lady  St. 
Maurice's  motion,  a  servant  had  wheeled  up 
to  the  fire.  "I  like  to  think  of  myself  as 
belonging  altogether  to  my  mother  and  her 
people.  I  have  been  very  unhappy  with  my 
father's  relations." 

"I  am  only  sorry  that  you  remained  with 
them  so  long,"  Lady  St.  Maurice  said.  "Let 
me  give  you  some  tea,  and  then  you  must  tell 
me  why  you  never  wrote  to  me  before." 

"Because  I  made  up  my  mind  to  bear  it  as 
long  as  I  was  able,"  she  answered.  "I  have 
done  so.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  remain 
there  any  longer,  and  I  determined  to  take  my 
life  into  my  own  hands,  and,  if  necessary,  find 
a  situation.  I  wrote  first  to  you,  and  you  have 
been  kind  enough  to  engage  me." 

To  Lady  St  Maurice,  who  was  a  woman  of 
genial  manners  and  kindly  disposition,  there 
seemed  to  be  a  curious  hardness  in  the  girl's 
tone  and  mode  of  expressing  herself.  She 
had  avoided  the  kiss  with  which  she  had  been 
prepared  to  greet  her,  and  had  shaken  hands 
in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way.  This  last 
phrase,  too,  was  a  little  ungracious. 

"Engage  you!  I  hope  you  are  not  going 
to  look  upon  our  little  arrangement  in  that 
light,"  Lady  St.  Maurice  said  pleasantly.  "For 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    183 

your  mother's  sake,  Margharita,  I  should  have 
been  only  too  glad  to  have  welcomed  you  here 
at  any  time  as  my  daughter,  and  I  hope  that 
when  we  know  one  another  better,  you  will  not 
be  quite  so  independent.  Don't  be  afraid,"  she 
added,  "you  shall  have  your  own  way  at  first. 
Some  day  I  hope  that  you  will  come  round  to 


mine/' 


Margharita  sipped  her  tea  quietly,  and  made 
no  reply;  but  in  the  firelight  her  dark  eyes 
glowed  softly  and  brightly,  and  Lady  St.  Mau- 
rice was  quite  satisfied  with  her  silence.  For  a 
few  moments  neither  of  them  spoke.  Then 
Lady  St.  Maurice  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
away  from  the  firelight,  and  asked  a  question. 

"Did  you  know  that  the  Count  di  Marioni, 
your  uncle,  was  in  London  ?" 

"I  knew  that  he  had  been  there,"  Margharita 
answered  in  a  low  tone. 

"Had  been !    Has  he  gone  away  ?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  the  girl  continued,  looking 
steadily  at  her  questioner.  "Yesterday  I  called 
to  see  him  at  a  hotel  in  Piccadilly,  and  they 
told  me  that  he  had  left  that  morning  for 
abroad.  I  was  sorry  to  be  too  late." 

"Yes." 

Lady  St.  Maurice  asked  no  more.  The  dark 
eyes  seemed  to  be  trying  to  pierce  the  dusk 
between  them,  and  read  her  face.  She  turned 


1 84    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

the  conversation,  and  asked  a  few  questions 
about  the  journey.  Afterward  would  be  time 
enough  to  find  out  how  much  this  girl  knew. 

Soon  Lord  St.  Maurice  came  in  from  shoot- 
ing, wet  to  the  skin,  and  stood  by  the  fire, 
drinking  his  tea  and  talking  pleasantly  to 
Margharita  and  his  wife.  She  talked  more 
readily  to  him  than  to  Lady  St.  Maurice,  but 
in  the  middle  of  the  conversation  she  checked 
herself  and  stood  up. 

"I  am  tired,"  she  said  abruptly.  "May  I  go 
to  my  room?" 

Lady  St.  Maurice  took  her  away  herself,  and 
showed  her  the  suite  which  had  been  prepared 
for  her.  There  was  a  bedroom,  a  daintily 
furnished  little  sitting  room,  and  a  bath  room, 
all  looking  out  upon  the  sea.  A  bright  fire 
had  been  lit  in  both  the  rooms,  and  bowls  of 
flowers  and  many  little  feminine  trifles  helped 
to  unite  comfort  to  undoubted  luxury.  Mar- 
gharita went  from  one  to  the  other  without 
remark.  , 

"These  are  far  too  nice,"  she  said  simply, 
when  Lady  St.  Maurice  turned  to  go.  "I  have 
not  been  used  to  such  luxury." 

Lady  St.  Maurice  left  her  with  a  sigh,  and 
went  downstairs.  She  had  hoped  to  see  the 
cold  proud  face  relax  a  little  at  the  many 
signs  of  thought  in  the  preparations  which  had 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          185 

been  made  for  her,  and  she  was  disappointed. 
She  entered  her  sitting  room  thoughtfully,  and 
went  up  to  her  husband. 

"Geoffrey,  she  is  horribly  like  him." 

"If  poor  Marioni  had  had  this  girl's  looks 
I  should  have  felt  more  jealous,"  he  answered 
lightly.  "I'm  almost  sorry  Lumley  is  here." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"She  is  beautiful,  but  I  don't  think  Lumley 
will  admire  her.  He  places  expression  before 
everything,  and  this  girl  has  none.  She  must 
have  been  very  unhappy,  I  think,  or  else  she 
is  very  heartless !" 

He  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  twisting 
his  mustache  and  warming  himself. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  remarked,  "you're  dis- 
appointed because  she  didn't  jump  into  your 
arms  and  cry  a  little,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
Now,  I  respect  the  girl  for  it;  for  I  think  she 
was  acting  under  constraint.  Give  her  time, 
Adrienne,  and  I  think  you'll  find  her  sympa- 
thetic enough.  And  as  to  the  expression — 
well,  I  may  be  mistaken,  but  I  should  say  that 
she  had  a  sweeter  one  than  most  women, 
although  we  haven't  seen  it  yet.  Give  her 
time,  Adrienne.  Don't  hurry  her." 

It  was  two  hours  before  they  saw  her 
again,  and  then  she  came  into  the  drawing 
room  just  as  the  dinner  gong  was  going. 


1 86    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

Neither  of  them  had  seen  her  save  by  the 
dim  light  of  a  single  lamp,  and  even  then  she 
had  been  wrapped  in  a  long  traveling  coat; 
and  so,  although  Lord  St.  Maurice  had  called 
her  beautiful,  they  were  neither  of  them  pre- 
pared to  see  her  quite  as  she  was.  She 
wore  a  plain  black  net  dinner  gown,  curving 
only  slightly  downward  at  the  white  throat, 
the  somberness  of  which  was  partially  relieved 
by  an  amber  foundation.  She  had  no  jewelry 
of  any  sort,  nor  any  flowers,  and  she  carried 
only  a  tiny  lace  handkerchief  in  her  left  hand. 
But  she  had  no  need  of  a  toilet  or  of  adorn- 
ment. That  proud,  exquisitely  graceful  car- 
riage, which  only  race  can  give,  was  the  dowry 
of  her  descent  from  one  of  the  ancient  families 
of  Southern  Europe;  but  the  beauty  of  her 
face  was  nature's  gift  alone.  It  was  beauty  of 
the  best  and  purest  French  type — the  beauty 
of  the  aristocrats  of  the  court  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth.  The  luxurious  black  hair  was 
parted  in  the  middle,  and  raised  slightly  over 
the  temples,  showing  a  high  but  delicately 
arched  forehead.  Her  complexion  was  dazzling 
in  its  purity,  but  colorless.  There  was  none 
of  the  harshness  of  the  Sicilian  type  in  her 
features,  or  in  the  lines  of  her  figure.  The 
severest  critic  of  feminine  beauty  could  have 
asked  only  for  a  slightly  relaxed  mouth,  and 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    187 

a  touch  of  humanity  in  her  dark,  still  eyes; 
and  even  he,  knowing  that  the  great  joys  of 
womanhood — the  joys  of  loving  and  being 
loved — were  as  yet  untasted  by  her,  would 
have  held  his  peace,  murmuring,  perhaps,  that 
the  days  of  miracles  were  not  yet  passed,  and 
a  daughter  of  Diana  had  appeared  upon  the 
earth. 

The  little  group,  to  whom  her  entrance  was 
something  like  a  thunderbolt,  consisted  only  of 
Lord  and  Lady  St.  Maurice,  and  their  son, 
Lord  Lumley.  He,  although  his  surprise  was 
the  greatest,  was  the  first  to  recover  from  it. 

"I  am  happy  to  meet  you  in  proper  form, 
Miss  Briscoe,"  he  said,  bowing,  and  then  look- 
ing into  her  face  with  a  humorous  light  in  his 
eyes.  "I  was  afraid  that  I  should  never  have 
the  opportunity  of  telling  you  that  those  fellows 
met  with,  at  any  rate,  a  part  of  what  they 
deserved.  I  saw  them  locked  up." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  slightly 
arched  eyebrows,  and  then  suddenly  smiled. 

"Oh !  is  it  really  you  ?"  she  exclaimed,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand,  which  she  had  not  previously 
offered.  "I  am  so  glad.  I  was  afraid  that  I 
should  never  have  the  opportunity  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness." 

"You  have  met  Lumley  before,  then?"  asked 
Lady  St.  Maurice,  wondering. 


1 88    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"Scarcely  so  much  as  that,"  he  answered, 
laughing.  "Don't  you  remember  my  telling 
you  of  my  adventure  in  Piccadilly,  mother  ?" 

"Yes,  I  remember.  Do  you  mean  that  the 
young  lady  was  really  Margharita  ?" 

She  looked  at  him,  and  he  colored  slightly. 
For  the  first  time  he  remembered  how  enthusi- 
astically he  had  spoken  of  the  girl  whom  he  had 
assisted,  and  Lady  St.  Maurice  remembered, 
too,  that  for  several  days  afterward  he  had 
been  silent  and  distrait.  She  could  not  fail 
to  remember  it,  for  it  was  the  first  time  she 
had  ever  heard  Lumley  admire  a  girl  in  such 
terms. 

"Yes,  it  was  Miss  Briscoe,"  he  answered, 
keeping  his  head  turned  away  from  his  mother. 

"It  was  indeed  I,"  she  admitted.  "I  don't 
know  what  I  should  have  done,  but  for  your 
help,  Lord  Lumley.  I  am  afraid  that  I  should 
have  screamed  and  made  a  scene." 

"I  can't  imagine  your  doing  it !"  he  remarked 
truthfully. 

"Perhaps  not!  But  I  was  so  surprised,  I 
could  not  understand  it." 

"May  I  remind  you  that  I  am  completely  in 
the  dark  as  to  this  little  adventure,"  Lord  St. 
Maurice  remarked  pleasantly.  "What  was  it, 
Lumley?" 

"A  very  simple  affair  after  all.     I  was  in 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT  189 

Piccadilly,  and  Miss  Briscoe  here  was  coming 
out  of  some  milliner's  shop  and  crossing  the 
pavement  to  her  carriage." 

"Cab !"  she  interrupted. 

"Cab,  then.  Well,  it  was  late  in  the  after- 
noon, and  two  drunken  little  cads  tried  to  speak 
to  her.  Naturally,  as  I  was  the  nearest  decent 
person,  I  interfered  and  assisted  Miss  Briscoe 
into  her  cab.  That  I  was  passing  was  a  piece 
of  good  fortune  for  which  I  have  always  been 
thankful." 

"Lord  Lumley  does  not  add  that  his  inter- 
ference consisted  in  knocking  one  man  down 
and  holding  the  other  until  he  almost  choked 
with  one  hand,  while  he  helped  me  into  the  cab 
with  the  other." 

"I  only  shook  him  a  little,"  he  laughed, 
giving  his  mother  his  arm,  for  the  butler  had 
announced  dinner  while  they  had  been  talking. 
"If  I  had  been  he  I  would  rather  have  had  the 
shaking  than  the  look  Miss  Briscoe  flashed  at 
him." 

"I  detest  being  touched,"  she  said  coldly, 
"especially  by  a  stranger." 

"How  did  the  affair  end?"  Lord  St.  Maurice 
asked,  sipping  his  soup.  "I  hope  you  got  them 
locked  up,  Lumley." 

"Why,  the  termination  of  the  affair  was  the 
part  on  which  I  do  really  congratulate  myself," 


190          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

he  answered.  "A  policeman  came  up  at  once, 
but  before  I  could  give  them  in  charge — in 
which  case  I  should,  of  course,  have  been  called 
upon  to  prosecute  and  got  generally  mixed  up 
in  the  affair — one  of  the  fellows  began  thump- 
ing the  policeman;  so  of  course  he  collared 
them  and  marched  them  off.  I  slipped  away, 
and  I  noticed  the  next  morning  that  they  got 
pretty  heavily  fined  for  assaulting  a  policeman 
in  the  execution  of  his  duty." 

"A  satisfactory  ending  to  a  most  unpleasant 
affair,"  Lord  St.  Maurice  remarked. 

During  dinner  Lord  Lumley  devoted  himself 
to  their  guest,  but  for  a  long  time  the  burden 
of  the  conversation  lay  altogether  upon  his 
shoulders.  It  was  not  until  he  chanced  to 
mention  the  National  Gallery,  in  connection 
with  the  season's  exhibition  of  pictures,  that 
Margharita  abandoned  her  monosyllabic  an- 
swers and  generally  reserved  demeanor.  He 
saw  at  once  that  he  had  struck  the  right  note, 
and  he  followed  it  up  with  tact.  He  was  fresh 
from  a  tour  among  the  galleries  of  southern 
Europe  and  Holland,  and  he  himself  was  no 
mean  artist.  But  Margharita,  he  soon  found, 
knew  nothing  of  recent  art.  She  was  hope- 
lessly out  of  date.  She  knew  nothing  of  the 
modern  cant,  of  the  nineteenth  century  philis- 
tinism,  at  which  it  was  so  much  the  fashion  to 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  191 

scoff.  She  had  not  caught  the  froth  of  the 
afternoon  talk  at  fashionable  studios,  and,  hav- 
ing jumbled  it  together  in  the  popular  fashion, 
she  was  not  prepared  to  set  forth  her  views  on 
art  in  somebody  else's  pet  phrases.  Lord  Lum- 
ley  had  met  that  sort  of  young  lady,  and  had 
shunned  her.  Margharita  had  simply  acquired 
from  a  hurried  visit  to  Italy,  when  she  was 
quite  young,  a  dim  but  vast  appreciation  of  the 
soul  of  the  great  masters.  She  could  not  have 
defined  art,  nor  could  she  have  expressed  in  a 
few  nicely-rounded  sentences  her  opinion  of 
Leonardo  da  Vinci's  masterpiece,  or  of  the 
genius  of  Pico  della  Mirandola.  But  she  felt 
that  a  great  world  lay  beyond  a  larger  knowl- 
edge and  understanding  of  these  things,  and 
some  day  she  hoped,  after  time,  and  thought, 
and  study,  to  enter  it. 

And  Lord  Lumley,  reading  her  thoughts 
with  a  keen  and  intuitive  sympathy,  talked  to 
her  that  night  at  dinner  and  afterward  in  a 
corner  of  the  perfumed  rose-lit  drawing  room, 
as  no  man  had  ever  talked  to  her  before — 
talked  to  her  so  earnestly,  and  with  so  much 
effect,  that  Lady  St.  Maurice  rose  from  her 
writing  table  at  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
watched  them  with  pale  and  troubled  face,  and 
more  than  once  made  some  faint  effort  to  dis- 
turb them.  He  showed  her  the  systems  and 


192          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

manner  of  thought  by  which  the  dimly-felt, 
wondering  admiration  of  the  uncultured,  yet 
sensitive,  mind  can  develop  into  the  large  and 
soul-felt  appreciation  of  the  artist.  It  was  the 
keys  of  her  promised  land  which  he  held  out  to 
her  with  winning  speech  and  a  kindliness  to 
which  she  was  unaccustomed.  He  was  young 
himself,  but  he  had  all  the  advantages  of  cor- 
rect training,  of  travel,  and  of  delicate  artistic 
sensibilities.  He  had  taught  himself  much,  and 
fresh  from  the  task  of  learning,  he  had  all  the 
best  enthusiasm  of  the  teacher.  He  had  told 
himself  that  he,  too,  like  the  Athenians,  wor- 
shiped beauty,  but  never  in  his  life  had  he  seen 
anything  so  beautiful  as  Margharita's  face  as 
she  listened  to  him.  Spiritual  life  seemed  to 
have  been  poured  into  a  piece  of  beautiful 
imagery.  Her  lips  were  parted  and  her  dark 
eyes  were  softened.  It  was  the  face  of  a  St. 
Cecilia.  How  long  before  it  would  become  the 
face  of  a  woman ! 

It  was  Lord  St.  Maurice's  arrival  which  dis- 
solved the  spell.  He  had  missed  his  after- 
dinner  cigar  and  chat  with  Lumley,  and  directly 
he  entered  the  drawing  room  he  saw  the  cause. 
Adrienne's  eyes  and  his  met.  A  little  annoyed 
by  his  son's  defection  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  act. 

"Miss  Briscoe,  are  you  too  tired,  or  may  we 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          193 

ask  for  a  little  music?"  he  said,  walking  up  to 
the  pair. 

She  looked  up,  frowning  a  little  at  the  inter- 
ruption. Then  a  swift  recollection  of  her 
position  came  to  her,  and  the  light  died  out 
of  her  face.  She  rose  at  once. 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  do  what  I  can.  I  sing 
a  little,  but  I  play  badly." 

She  affected  not  to  notice  Lord  St.  Maurice's 
arm,  but  crossed  the  room  by  his  side  toward 
the  piano.  He  opened  it,  arranged  the  stool, 
and  remained  standing  there. 

She  struck  a  few  minor  chords,  and  suddenly 
the  room  seemed  full  of  a  sad,  plaintive  music, 
rising  gradually  to  a  higher  pitch,  and  then 
dying  away  as  her  voice  took  up  the  melody 
and  carried  it  on.  Lady  St.  Maurice  held  her 
hand  to  her  side  for  a  moment,  and  her  husband 
frowned.  It  was  a  Sicilian  love  song  which 
she  was  singing;  the  song  of  a  peasant  whose 
bride  lies  dead  by  his  side,  the  victim  of 
another's  jealousy.  Adrienne  had  heard  it 
often  in  the  old  days,  and  the  beautiful  wild 
music  which  rang  in  their  ears  was  full  of 
memories  to  her.  It  closed  abruptly,  and  only 
Lumley,  with  an  unusual  sparkle  in  his  eyes, 
found  words  to  thank  her. 

"Are  all  your  songs  sad  ones,  Miss  Bris- 
coe  ?"  Lord  St.  Maurice  asked  abruptly.  "Can't 


194          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

you  offer  us  something  in  the  shape  of  an 
antidote?" 

She  sat  down  at  the  piano  again. 

"I  do  not  know  anything  gay,"  she  said.  "I 
can  only  sing  what  I  feel.  I  will  play  some- 
thing/' 

She  dashed  off  into  a  light  Hungarian  dance, 
full  of  verve  and  sparkle,  and  Lord  St. 
Maurice  kept  time  with  his  foot,  smiling  ap- 
provingly. Directly  it  was  over  she  closed 
the  piano  and  turned  to  Lady  St.  Maurice. 

"If  I  may  I  should  be  glad  to  go  to  my 
room  now,"  she  said.  "I  had  no  idea  it  was 
so  late." 

Lumley  held  the  door  open  for  her,  and  felt 
unreasonably  disappointed  because  she  passed 
out  with  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head,  but 
without  looking  at  him.  Then  he  turned  back 
into  the  room,  and  they  all  three  looked  at  one 
another  for  a  moment. 

"She  is  marvelously  handsome,"  Lord  St. 
Maurice  pronounced. 

"Marvelously !"  his  son  echoed  softly. 

But  Lady  St.  Maurice  said  nothing. 


CHAPTER   XX 

LORD  LUMLEY  AND   MARCH ARITA 

"GEOFFREY,  come  here  for  a  moment  I" 

The  Earl  of  St.  Maurice,  who  was  a  most 
obedient  husband,  folded  up  his  paper  and 
joined  his  wife  at  the  window. 

"Well,  dear." 

"Look  there." 

He  followed  her  finger.  It  pointed  to  three 
figures ;  a  man  in  shooting  clothes,  with  a  gun 
under  his  arm,  a  girl  and  a  child  between  them, 
strolling  along  the  cliffs  outside  the  grounds. 
He  glanced  at  them  carelessly,  and  back  into 
his  wife's  face  as  though  for  an  explanation. 

"Well?" 

"This  is  the  third  morning  that  Lumley  has 
joined  Margharita  and  Gracie  in  their  walk." 

"Very  good  natured  of  him,"  the  Earl  replied 
carelessly.  "He  always  was  fond  of  Gracie 
though,  wasn't  he?" 

"I  wish  I  could  feel  sure  that  it  was  entirely 
for  Gracie' s  sake,"  she" answered  anxiously. 

Her  husband  whistled,  and  his  brows  con- 
tracted a  little. 

"You  mean  to  suggest,  I  suppose,  that  Miss 
195 


196    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

Briscoe  is  the  attraction,"  he  remarked 
thoughtfully. 

"How  can  I  help  thinking  so  ?  Both  yester- 
day and  this  morning  he  was  in  the  school- 
room until  I  heard  her  tell  him  quite  severely 
that  he  must  go,  as  he  was  interrupting  their 
work.  Both  mornings  I  have  asked  him  to 
drive  with  me,  and  each  time  he  made  an 
excuse.  If  Margharita's  name  is  mentioned 
before  him,  he  is  either  unusually  silent  and 
reserved,  or  very  talkative.  As  a  rule,  you 
know,  Lumley  does  not  care  for  girls.  That 
makes  me  all  the  more  anxious." 

"Miss  Briscoe  is  certainly  wonderfully  beau- 
tiful," he  said.  "Yet  I  think  that  Lumley  has 


common  sense." 


"He  has  peculiar  ideas,"  his  wife  answered. 
"I  have  always  been  afraid  of  his  doing  some- 
thing bizarre,  and  as  you  say,  Margharita  is 
wonderfully  beautiful — far  more  so  than  her 
mother,  I  think.  What  would  you  advise  me 
to  do,  Geoffrey  ?" 

He  stroked  his  long  gray  mustache,  and 
looked  thoughtful. 

"It's  a  delicate  matter,"  he  said.  "To  even 
hint  at  the  girl  going  away  because  Lumley 
admires  her  would  be  unjust,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  if  Lumley  got  an  inkling  of  the  reason 
it  would  certainly  make  him  think  more  of  her 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          197 

than  he  does  now.  You  have  no  fault  to  find 
with  her  in  any  way  ?" 

"None!  absolutely  none!  Her  behavior  is 
perfect.  She  is  proud,  but  I  do  not  consider 
that  a  fault.  Her  manners  are  the  manners  of 
a  perfectly-bred  lady." 

"And  Gracie  likes  her?" 

"Grade  adores  her !" 

"She  certainly  doesn't  attempt  to  encourage 
Lumley  in  any  way,"  the  Earl  continued 
thoughtfully. 

"Her  manners  and  behavior,  in  fact,  her 
whole  conduct,  is  perfectly  irreproachable," 
Lady  St.  Maurice  acknowledged.  "In  certain 
ways  she  has  been  a  great  disappointment  to 
me,  but  I  wish  to  be  just  to  her,  and  I  feel 
bound  to  say  so.  It  makes  the  situation  all 
the  more  difficult." 

"In  that  case  we  can  do  nothing,"  her 
husband  said  decidedly.  "Things  must  take 
their  course.  If  they  develop,  as  we  will  hope 
they  may  not,  I  will  speak  to  Lumley  pri- 
vately." 

"You  see  she  is  coming  back  because  Lumley 
has  joined  them,"  Lady  St.  Maurice  said. 
"Geoffrey,  look  at  her  now  at  the  top  of  that 
hill.  Does  she  not  remind  you  of  him  ?" 

He  took  up  a  pair  of  field  glasses  from  the 
table  and  looked  at  her  steadily. 


198          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

"Yes,  she  does,"  he  admitted.  "She  is  just 
like  that  poor  fellow  Marioni  sometimes.  I 
never  noticed  it  so  clearly." 

"She  is  horribly  like  him,  and,  Geoffrey,  it 
is  foolish  of  me,  but  sometimes  she  looks  at 
me  with  his  eyes.  It  makes  me  shiver." 

"Foolish  little  woman !  Why,  you  are  actu- 
ally nursing  your  fears." 

"They  are  scarcely  fears ;  only  a  stupid  sort 
of  foreboding  that  comes  on  sometimes,  and 
which,  afterward,  I  look  upon  as  morbid.  It 
is  foolish  of  me,  I  know,  to  connect  them  with 
Margharita,  and  yet  I  can't  help  it  sometimes. 
She  is  so  like  him." 

"Why  don't  you  ask  her  if  she  knows  any- 
thing about  him,  or  where  he  is?  Surely  you 
might  do  that." 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  more  than 
once,  but  really,  Geoffrey,  absurd  though  it  may 
sound,  I  have  never  felt  quite  at  ease  in  asking 
Margharita  personal  questions.  She  so  obvi- 
ously insists  upon  our  relations  remaining  ex- 
actly those  of  employer  and  employed.  It  was 
not  at  all  what  I  intended ;  but  what  can  I  do  ? 
I  wish  to  be  a  friend  to  her,  but  her  manner 
quite  forbids  it.  She  is  far  prouder  than  I 
am." 

Lord  St.  Maurice  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  kissed  his  wife's  forehead. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          199 

"I  shouldn't  trouble  about  it,  dear.  They 
are  a  headstrong,  intractable  race,  those  Mari- 
onis,  and  this  girl  takes  after  her  mother. 
Treat  her  kindly  and  she'll  come  round  some 
day.  Come  and  sit  in  the  library  if  you  have 
nothing  better  to  do  for  half  an  hour.  I  have 
some  stupid  letters  to  write." 

"I  will  come  in  one  moment,  Geoffrey,"  she 
answered.  "I  may  as  well  clear  off  some  of 
my  correspondence  debts.  There  are  some 
invitations  to  answer,  too." 

Lord  St.  Maurice  left  the  room  and  Adrienne 
remained  by  the  window,  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  little  group  which  had  come  to  a  stand- 
still now  on  the  summit  of  the  low  line  of 
cliffs.  The  field  glasses  were  still  on  the  table 
by  her  side,  and  raising  them  to  her  eyes, 
she  watched  them  steadfastly  for  several  min- 
utes. When  she  put  them  down  she  was 
a  shade  paler,  and  there  we/e  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"If  I  thought  that  it  would  wipe  out  the 
past,"  she  murmured,  "after  all  it  might  be 
well.  But  how  can  it  ?  He  will  never  forgive ! 
Never !  never !" 

She  turned  away,  brushing  the  tears  from 
her  eyes,  and  went  into  her  husband's  room 
smiling  and  comely.  Such  sorrows  as  she  had 
were  not  for  him  to  share — not  even  for  him 


200          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

to  know  of.    The  burden  of  them  was  for  her 
alone. 

And,  meanwhile,  Lord  Lumley,  her  only  son, 
was  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  pine  tree  on 
the  brow  of  the  cliff,  with  something  very  much 
like  a  frown  upon  his  forehead;  and  a  little 
distance  away,  Margharita  was  calmly  reading 
to  Gracie  out  of  a  French  picture  book,  brought, 
as  Lord  Lumley  had  been  quick  to  surmise, 
chiefly  with  a  view  of  excluding  him  from  their 
company.  It  was  quite  true,  as  his  father  had 
remarked,  that  he  had  received  very  little 
encouragement  from  Margharita;  in  fact,  he 
had  been  told  somewhat  plainly,  a  few  minutes 
ago,  that  his  presence  was  interfering  with 
the  lesson.  "As  if  there  was  any  necessity  to 
bring  lesson  books  out  of  doors,"  he  had  mut- 
tered sotto  voce,  withdrawing  himself  a  few 
yards,  however,  and  relapsing  into  an  irritated 
silence.  The  book  had  been  brought  on  his 
account  altogether.  There  was  no  doubt  what- 
ever about  that,  and,  manlike,  he  felt  ag- 
grieved. Of  course  he  ought  to  have  gone 
away  at  once,  and  he  had  started  with  that 
intention,  but  the  sound  of  Margharita's  voice 
arrested  him  before  he  had  gone  half  a  dozen 
yards.  After  all,  it  would  be  pleasanter  to  stay 
and  listen. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          201 

So  he  stood  there,  crumpling  up  a  sprig  of 
heather  in  his  hand,  and  ostensibly  waiting  for 
a  shot  at  a  sea  gull.  He  was  quite  aware  that 
no  sea  gull  was  likely  to  rise  anywhere  near, 
and  that  his  gun  was  unloaded,  but  the  excuse 
was  the  only  one  that  had  occurred  to  him  at 
a  minute's  notice.  His  real  object  in  remaining 
was  that  he  might  walk  home  with  Margharita 
when  the  lesson  was  over. 

The  Earl  of  St.  Maurice  had  been  a  hand- 
some man  in  his  youth,  but  his  son  was  hand- 
somer. To  the  fine  Saxon  physique  of  the 
St.  Maurices,  in  Lord  Lumley  had  been  added 
something  of  the  more  delicate  beauty  of  his 
mother.  He  had  the  long  limbs  and  broad 
shoulders  of  which  a  gallery  full  of  St.  Mau- 
rices boasted,  but  his  features  were  more  deli- 
cately formed,  and  his  forehead  was  higher  and 
more  intellectual  than  any  of  them. 

Yet  it  had  not  in  any  way  spoiled  him.  He 
had  not  an  atom  of  conceit  or  pride  of  any  sort. 
At  college,  where  he  had  graduated  early,  he 
presented  the  rare  combination  of  a  nobleman's 
son,  a  moderate  athlete,  and  a  hard  reading 
man.  His  had  been  the  intellectual  set  of  the 
whole  university,  and  having  the  rare  gift  of 
attaining  an  unsought  influence  over  most  of 
those  with  whom  he  was  brought  into  contact, 
he  had  imparted  a  distinctly  scholarly  tone  to 


202          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

the  little  circle  which  he  had  formed.  Men  of 
all  grades  spoke  well  of  him.  He  was  reserved, 
and  he  was  not  a  prig ;  he  was  consistent  to  his 
own  ideals,  and  yet  not  censorious.  He  was 
possessed  of  an  agreeable  and  even  winning 
manner,  and  yet  he  had  rather  avoided  the 
society  of  women  than  otherwise.  The  conse- 
quence was  that,  at  twenty-four,  he  had  the 
thoughtful  intellectual  air  of  a  much  older  man. 

The  lesson  came  to  an  end  at  last,  and  the 
three  strolled  down  toward  the  house  together. 
Lord  Lumley  had  joined  them  because  there 
was  something  which  he  was  determined  to 
say. 

"Miss  Briscoe,"  he  began,  during  a  momen- 
tary halt  while  they  watched  a  yacht  tacking  in 
the  bay  below,  "may  I  ask  you  a  question  ?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  answered  carelessly, 
without  looking  at  him. 

"You  are  beginning  to  avoid  me." 

"Indeed!" 

"You  brought  that  wretched  book  out  this 
morning  as  an  excuse  to  get  rid  of  me." 

"Well,  if  I  did,  you  should  certainly  relieve 
me  of  the  necessity,  should  you  not  ?" 

"You  know  that  you  did.  And,  yesterday 
morning,  if  Gracie  had  not  pleaded  to  stay  out 
a  little  longer,  you  would  have  cut  your  work 
short  because  of  my  presence." 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          203 

"Then,  if  you  think  so,  Lord  Lumley,  it  is 
clearly  your  duty  to  go  away,  as  I  reminded 
you  just  now." 

"Thanks.  I  wonder  why  the  path  of  duty  is 
always  so  disagreeable." 

She  did  not  answer  him;  but,  taking  Gracie 
by  the  hand,  turned  homeward.  He  kept  his 
place  by  her  side,  heedless  of  the  angry  glance 
which  she  flashed  upon  him. 

"I  want  to  know  why  you  object  to  my  society 
so  much,  Miss  Briscoe?"  he  said  presently. 

"There  are  a  great  many  things  we  want  to 
know  in  this  world  which  we  don't  know,"  she 
answered.  "Where  we  go  to  after  we  die,  for 
instance.  We  have  to  be  patient,  and  wait  till 
we  find  out." 

"Then  you  won't  tell  me  ?" 

"Why  should  I?  But  if  you  really  want  to 
know,  the  reason  is  simple  enough.  I  have 
been  used  to  solitude.  I  prefer  it.  If  I  cannot 
have  it  absolutely  I  can  have  it  comparatively, 
at  any  rate." 

"With  Gracie?" 

"Exactly." 

"You  are  complimentary,"  he  laughed. 
She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Why  should  I  not  tell  the  truth  when  there 
is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  telling  a  falsehood  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  gravely. 


204    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"That  sounds  cynical,  Miss  Briscoe." 

"I  am  indifferent  as  to  its  sound,"  she  an- 
swered. "Hadn't  you  better  go  and  shoot 
something?" 

He  did  not  notice  her  suggestion. 

"Miss  Briscoe,  I  do  not  like  the  way  in 
which  we  are  talking.  I " 

"The  remedy  is  obvious,"  she  interrupted 
haughtily. 

"Probably  the  fault  is  mine,"  he  continued, 
calmly  ignoring  her  speech.  "I  have  not  been 
used  to  talking  to  girls  much.  My  friends 
have  all  been  men,  and  I  daresay  that  I  have 
got  into  the  habit,  therefore,  of  expressing  my- 
self clumsily.  But  what  I  want  to  say  to  you, 
if  you  will  give  me  the  opportunity,  is  this: 
The  first  few  evenings  after  your  arrival  here 
were  very  pleasant  ones  indeed — for  me.  You 
talked  to  me,  and  I  found  more  pleasure  in  our 
conversation  than  I  have  ever  done  in  any- 
thing else  in  my  life.  There,  that  is  being 
frank,  is  it  not?  I  hoped  that  we  might  be 
friends ;  indeed,  it  seemed  to  me  that  we  were 
certainly  going  to  be  so.  I  do  not  wish  to 
offend  you  by  any  apparent  exaggeration,  but 
I  must  say  that  it  made  a  considerable  differ- 
ence to  my  interest  in  life.  That  is  putting  it 
mildly.  Where  you  have  found  the  time  to 
read  and  think  so  much,  of  course,  I  cannot 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          205 

tell.  It  is  not  my  business.  Only,  I  know 
that  it  makes  your  companionship  very  pleasant 
for  me.  You  see  I  am  trying  to  be  as  matter- 
of-fact  as  possible — do  please  give  me  credit 
for  that.  I  just  want  to  know  why  you  have 
altered  your  manner  to  me ;  why  we  cannot  be 
friends?  Will  you  tell  me,  please,  Miss 
Briscoe?" 

His  pleading  tone  had  a  manly  musical  ring 
in  it  which  was  very  pleasant  to  listen  to,  and 
in  his  anxiety  for  her  answer  he  had  stooped 
down  until  his  dark  handsome  head  nearly 
touched  hers.  She  drew  away  impatiently. 

"That  is  impossible/'  she  said  coldly. 

"And  why?" 

"If  for  no  other  reason,  surely  the  Countess 
of  St.  Maurice's  governess  is  no  suitable  friend 
for  Lord  Lumley." 

He  colored  under  the  intense  hauteur  of  her 
words. 

"You  will  forgive  my  saying  that  that  is  the 
first  remark  which  I  have  heard  from  you,  Miss 
Briscoe,  which  has  not  been  in  good  taste. 
Good-morning.  Good-bye,  Grade." 

He  turned  abruptly  along  a  private  path 
through  the  pine  wood.  Margharita  and  her 
charge  went  on  up  to  the  house  alone. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

A  LAND  THAT  IS  LONELIER  THAN  RUIN 

LATE  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  they 
met  again,  and  this  time  really  by  accident. 
Since  morning  a  storm  had  been  blowing,  but 
just  before  sunset  the  wind  and  rain  had 
dropped,  and  an  angry  sun  glared  out  in  its 
last  moments  upon  the  troubled  sea.  Lord 
Lumley,  tired  of  struggling  with  a  pile  of 
books  and  smoking  cigarettes,  had  seen  the 
change  from  his  study  window,  and  seizing  his 
cap  and  a  stick  had  hurried  out  to  taste  the 
strong  salt  wind  and  to  watch  the  cloud  effects 
from  the  cliffs;  and,  as  he  had  rounded  the 
corner,  he  had  come  face  to  face  with 
Margharita. 

She  was  standing  on  the  highest  point  of 
the  cliffs,  her  skirts  blowing  wildly  around  her 
tall,  slim  figure,  and  making  strange  havoc 
with  her  hair.  Her  face  was  turned  seaward, 
but  at  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  she  turned 
quickly  round.  His  heart  beat  fast  for  a 
moment,  and  then  he  remembered  their  part- 
ing earlier  in  the  day. 

206 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          207 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you,"  he  said 
coldly,  raising  his  cap.  "If  I  had  had  the 
least  idea  that  you  were  here  I  would  have 
taken  the  other  path." 

He  was  passing  on,  but  as  she  made  him  no 
answer  he  glanced  up  at  her  face.  Then  all 
thought  of  going  vanished.  There  were  glis- 
tening tears  in  her  dark  eyes,  and  her  lips  were 
quivering. 

"Forgive  me,  Miss  Briscoe,"  he  said,  spring- 
ing up  to  her  side.  "I  was  a  clumsy  idiot,  but 
I  was  afraid  that  you  would  think  that  I  had 
followed  you.  May  I  stay?" 

She  nodded,  and  turned  her  face  away  from 
him. 

"Yes,  stay,"  she  answered  softly;  "stay  and 
talk  to  me.  Don't  think  me  silly,  but  I  was 
feeling  sad — lonely,  perhaps — and  you  have 
always  spoken  so  kindly  to  me,  that  the  change 
— it  was  a  little  too  sudden." 

"I  was  a  brute,"  he  whispered  gently. 

The  change  in  her  was  wonderful.  Her 
voice  was  soft,  and,  glancing  up  at  her  face,  he 
could  see  that  it  was  stained  with  tears.  At 
that  moment  he  felt  that  he  would  have  given 
the  world  to  have  taken  her  into  his  arms  and 
held  her  there,  but  he  thrust  the  thought  reso- 
lutely from  him.  Now  was  his  opportunity 
to  teach  her  to  trust  him.  He  would  not 


208          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

even  suffer  his  voice  to  take  too  tender  a 
note. 

"The  fresh  air  is  glorious  after  a  day  cooped 
up  in  a  little  study,"  he  said  lightly.  "See  the 
curlews  there,  flying  round  and  round  over  the 
marshes.  Tennyson's  old  home  lies  that  way, 
you  know.  Do  you  wonder  that  this  flat 
country,  with  its  strange  twilight  effects,  should 
have  laid  hold  of  him  so  powerfully?" 

"It  is  strange  and  weird,"  she  murmured 
thoughtfully. 

"Weird  is  the  very  word  for  it.  Tennyson 
might  have  written  that  lovely  but  hackneyed 
poem,  'Locksley  Hall/  from  this  very  spot. 
The  place  seems  born  to  evoke  sentiment,  and 
a  stormy  twilight  like  this  seems  to  fit  in  with 
it.  It  is  not  a  fair-weather  land.  People 
come  here  in  the  summer,  and  call  the  place 
flat  and  uninteresting.  One  can  scarcely 
wonder  at  it." 

"It  is  a  sad-looking  country,"  she  said.  "It 
was  its  sadness  which  brought  me  out  this 
afternoon;  similia  similibus  curantur,  you 
know ;  but  in  my  case  it  has  failed." 

"And  why  should  you  be  sad?"  he  asked 
softly.  "Won't  you  give  me  a  little  of  your 
confidence  ?" 

She  smiled  bitterly,  and  shook  her  head. 

"No,  you  could  never  know.     Ask  me  no 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          209 

questions;  only  leave  me  alone.  Talk  to  me 
of  other  things,  if  you  will.  My  thoughts  are 
bad  companions  to-night.  I  do  not  want  to  be 
left  alone  with  them.  Do  you  know  any  of 
Swinburne's  'Salt  Marshes'  ?" 

"A  little." 

"Say  it  to  me.  I  want  to  escape  from  my 
thoughts." 

He  obeyed  her,  standing  up  by  her  side  and 
watching  the  wild  music  of  the  poetry  kindle 
her  imagination  and  work  into  her  heart.  He 
understood  the  situation  now.  She  was  op- 
pressed by  some  great  trouble,  and  he  must 
help  her  to  forget  it.  And  so,  when  he  had 
come  to  the  last  line,  he  talked  to  her  softly  of 
it,  pointing  out  the  strange  lights  on  the  sea, 
and  the  shadows  lying  across  the  desolate 
country.  Soon  he  drifted  into  verse  again, 
striving,  so  far  as  he  could,  to  avoid  the  poetry 
of  pessimism  and  despair,  so  beautiful  and  yet 
so  noxious,  and  strike  a  more  joyous  and 
hopeful  note.  Soon  he  found  himself  at 
"Maud,"  and  here  he  was  fluent,  but  here  she 
stopped  him,  warned  perhaps  by  the  light 
which  was  creeping  into  his  eyes. 

"Let  us  go  home  now,"  she  said.  "You 
have  been  very  kind  to  me.  I  shall  never 
forget  it." 

He  gave  her  his  hand,  and  they  scrambled 


2io          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

down  on  to  the  path.  They  retraced  their 
steps  toward  the  house  almost  in  silence.  He 
was  only  fearful  of  losing  one  particle  of  the 
advantage  which  he  had  gained.  The  fear 
of  not  seeing  her  again,  however,  gave  him 
courage. 

"May  I  ask  a  favor  ?"  he  begged  humbly. 

She  nodded. 

"Make  it  a  small  one,  please.  I  am  almost 
afraid  of  having  to  refuse  it." 

"Will  you  come  down  into  the  drawing  room 
to-night?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  cannot.    I  have  a  long  letter  to  write." 

His  face  fell. 

"For  just  a  short  time,  then." 

She  hesitated. 

"Yes,  if  you  wish  it." 

"We  are  friends  now,  are  we  not?" 
anxiously. 

She  flashed  a  brilliant  look  upon  him,  which 
made  the  color  steal  into  his  cheeks,  and  his 
heart  beat  fast. 

"Yes,"  she  said  softly,  "if  you  will." 


CHAPTER   XXII 
.     LORD  LUMLEY'S  CONFESSION 

"MOTHER,  don't  you  think  that  Miss  Briscoe 
is  a  very  strange  girl  ?" 

Lady  St.  Maurice  looked  up  from  her  work 
quickly.  Nine  o'clock  was  just  striking,  and 
her  son  only  a  moment  before  had  replaced  his 
watch  in  his  pocket  with  an  impatient  little 
gesture. 

"Yes,  I  do  think  so,"  she  answered  quietly. 
"I  think  her  very  strange  indeed.  Why  do 
you  ask  me  ?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  exactly. .  It  seems  odd 
that  she  should  want  to  spend  all  her  evening 
alone,  and  that  she  should  have  so  many  long 
letters  to  write.  Do  you  think  that  she  quite 
understands  that  you  would  like  her  to  come 
down  with  us  ?" 

"I  am  quite  sure  that  she  does,  Lumley.  I 
even  objected  to  having  her  come  here  as  a 
governess  at  all.  Her  mother  was  a  dear 
friend  of  mine  many  years  ago,  and  I  told 
Margharita  from  the  first  that  I  would  rather 


211 


212          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

have  her  here  as  my  daughter.  She  would 
have  been  very  welcome  to  a  home  with  us. 
It  was  only  her  pride  which  made  her  insist 
upon  coming  as  Grade's  governess,  and  I  sup- 
pose it  is  the  same  feeling  which  prompts  her 
to  keep  herself  so  much  aloof  from  us.  I  am 
sorry,  but  I  can  do  no  more  than  I  have  done 
toward  making  her  see  things  differently." 

Lord  Lumley  fidgeted  about  for  a  minute  or 
two  on  the  hearthrug.  There  was  a  certain 
reserve  in  his  mother's  manner  which  made  the 
task  which  he  had  set  himself  more  difficult 
even  than  it  would  have  been  under  ordinary 
circumstances.  Besides,  he  felt  that  from  her 
low  seat  she  was  watching  him  intently,  and 
the  knowledge  did  not  tend  toward  setting 
him  more  at  his  ease. 

"You  loved  her  mother,  then  ?" 

"I  did.    She  was  my  dearest  friend." 

"And  yet — forgive  me  if  I  am  wrong — but 
sometimes  I  fancy  that  you  do  not  even  like 
Miss  Briscoe." 

"She  will  not  let  me  like  or  dislike  her, 
Lumley." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"It  isn't  that  exactly.  I  have  seen  you 
watching  her  sometimes — as  for  instance  when 
she  sang  that  Sicilian  song  here — as  though 
you  were — well,  almost  afraid  of  her;  as 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          213 

though  there  was  something  about  her  which 
almost  repelled  you." 

The  Countess  laid  down  her  work,  and 
looked  steadfastly  into  the  fire.  There  was  a 
moment's  silence. 

"You  have  been  a  close  watcher,  Lumley." 

"I  admit  it.  But,  tell  me,  have  I  not 
watched  to  some  purpose.  There  is  no  mis- 
taking the  look  in  your  face  sometimes,  when 
she  comes  into  the  room  unexpectedly.  If  the 
thing  were  not  absurd,  I  should  say  that  you 
were  afraid  of  her." 

Lady  St.  Maurice  held  her  hand  to  her  side 
for  a  moment,  as  though  she  felt  a  sudden 
pain.  She  repeated  her  son's  words  without 
looking  up  at  him. 

"Afraid  of  her!  No,  no,  Lumley.  I  am 
afraid  of  something  else,  something  of  which 
her  face  continually  reminds  me.  It  is  the 
shadow  of  the  past  which  seems  to  follow  her 
footsteps." 

A  tragic  note  had  suddenly  been  struck  in 
the  conversation  between  mother  and  son. 
Lord  Lumley,  who  had  been  altogether  unpre- 
pared for  it,  was  full  of  interest. 

"The  past!"  he  repeated.  "Whose  past? 
Tell  me  all  about  it,  mother." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  he  saw  that  her 
face  was  unusually  pale. 


214          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"Lumley,  it  is  only  a  little  while  ago  since 
your  father  and  I  told  you  the  story  of  our 
strange  meeting  and  marriage.  You  remember 
it?" 

"Every  word !    Every  word,  mother !" 

"You  remember  the  duel  which  the  Count 
di  Marioni  sought  to  force  upon  your  father, 
but  which  I  prevented?  You  remember  the 
means  which  I  was  driven  to  use  to  prevent 
it,  and  the  oath  of  vengeance  which  Leonardo 
— the  Count  di  Marioni — swore  against  us 
both?" 

"Yes." 

"Lumley,  twenty-five  years  have  passed 
away,  and  he  is  free." 

"But,  Miss  Briscoe?"  he  asked,  bewildered. 
"How  does  all  this  concern  her  ?" 

"She  is  his  niece." 

"His  niece !  his  niece !" 

Lord  Lumley  could  say  nothing.  With  all 
the  swift  selfishness  of  a  man  his  thoughts 
were  centered  round  one  point.  Would  this 
new  development  hinder  his  purpose,  or  was 
it  favorable  to  him  ? 

"Leonardo's  sister,  Lumley,  was  my  dear 
friend.  She  married  a  man  named  Briscoe, 
and  died  very  soon  afterward.  Margharita 
is  their  daughter,  and,  Lumley,  there  is  no 
English  blood  in  her  veins.  She  is  a  Marioni ! 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    215 

I  can  see  his  eyes  and  his  forehead  every  time 
I  look  at  hers.  They  seem  to  tell  me  that 
that  wild  oath  still  lives ;  that  some  day  he  will 
stretch  out  his  hand  and  redeem  that  mur- 
derous threat.  Lumley,  there  have  been  times 
when  it  has  terrified  me  to  look  at  that  girl." 

His  face  was  clearing.  A  smile  even  began 
to  dawn  upon  his  lips. 

"Why,  mother,  don't  you  see  that  so  far  as 
Miss  Briscoe  is  concerned  that  is  all  fancy," 
he  said.  "You  feel  in  that  way  toward  her 
simply  because  she  happens  to  resemble  the 
Count  di  Marioni.  Isn't  that  a  little  unfair  to 
her?  What  can  she  know  of  an  oath  which 
was  sworn  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  long 
before  she  was  born.  Why,  I  don't  suppose 
that  she  ever  heard  of  it." 

She  smiled  a  little  sadly. 

"Lumley,  I  do  not  attempt  to  defend  my 
feeling.  Of  course  it  is  absurd  to  connect  her 
with  it,  really." 

"I  was  sure  that  you  would  say  so, 
mother." 

"But,  Lumley,  although  I  cannot  defend  it 
the  feeling  remains.  Listen.  No  woman  has 
known  greater  happiness  than  I  have.  My  life 
has  been  sometimes  almost  too  perfect,  and 
yet  I  never  altogether  forgot  those  passionate 
words  of  Leonardo's.  They  lay  like  a  shadow 


216          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

across  my  life,  darkening  and  growing  broader 
as  the  years  of  his  confinement  passed  away. 
The  time  of  his  release  came  at  last — only  a 
few  months  ago,  and  only  a  few  months  ago, 
Lumley,  I  saw  him." 

"You  saw  him!    Where?" 

"In  London,  Lumley!  Why  did  he  come, 
almost  on  the  day  of  his  release,  here  to 
England  ?  It  was  a  country  which  he  hated  in 
his  younger  days,  and  yet,  instead  of  visiting 
his  old  home,  his  love  for  which  was  almost 
a  passion,  instead  of  lingering  in  those  sunny 
southern  towns  where  many  friends  still  re- 
mained who  would  have  received  him  with 
open  arms,  he  came  straight  to  London  alone. 
I  found  him  at  a  hotel  there,  broken  down, 
and  almost,  as  it  were,  on  the  threshold  of 
death!  Yet,  when  he  saw  me,  when  he  heard 
my  voice,  the  old  passion  blazed  out.  Lumley, 
I  prayed  to  him  for  forgiveness,  and  he  scorned 
me.  He  had  never  forgotten!  He  would 
never  forgive!  He  pointed  to  his  person,  his 
white  hairs,  to  all  the  terrible  evidences  of  his 
long  imprisonment,  and  once  more,  with  the 
same  passion  which  had  trembled  in  his  tone 
twenty-five  years  ago,  he  cursed  me!  It  was 
horrible !  I  fled  from  that  place  like  a  haunted 
woman,  and  since  then,  Lumley,  I  have  been 
haunted.  Every  feature  in  the  girl's  magnifi- 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          217 

cent  face,  and  every  movement  of  her  figure, 
reminds  me  that  she  is  a  Marioni !" 

She  had  risen  and  was  standing  by  his  side, 
a  beautiful,  but  a  suffering  woman.  He  took 
her  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

"Mother,  you  have  too  much  imagination," 
he  said  gently.  "Look  at  the  matter  seriously. 
Granted  that  this  old  man  still  harbors  a  sense- 
less resentment  against  you.  Yet  what  could 
he  do  ?  He  forgets  the  days  in  which  he  lives, 
and  the  country  to  which  you  belong!  Ven- 
dettas and  romantic  vengeances,  such  as  he 
may  have  dreamt  of  five-and-twenty  years  ago, 
are  extinct  even  in  his  own  land;  here,  they 
cannot  be  taken  seriously  at  all !" 

She  shivered  a  little,  and  looked  into  his  face 
as  though  comforted  in  some  measure. 

"That  is  what  I  say  to  myself,  Lumley,"  she 
said;  "but  there  are  times  when  the  old  dread 
is  too  strong  for  me  wholly  to  crush  it.  I  am 
not  an  Englishwoman,  you  know;  I  come  of  a 
more  superstitious  race!" 

"I  am  sorry  that  Miss  Briscoe  should  be  the 
means  of  bringing  these  unpleasant  thoughts 
to  you,"  he  remarked  thoughtfully.  "Mother !" 

"Yes,  Lumley." 

"Would  it  be  a  great  trouble  to  you  if — 
some  day — I  asked  you  to  receive  her  as  a 
daughter  ?" 


2i8          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

She  stood  quite  still  and  shivered.  Her  face 
was  suddenly  of  a  marble  pallor. 

"You — you  mean  this,  Lumley?" 

"I  mean  that  I  care  for  her,  mother." 

"You  have  not — spoken  to  her?" 

"No.  I  should  not  have  said  anything  to 
you  yet,  only  it  pained  me  to  think  that  there 
was  anything  between  you — any  aversion,  I 
mean.  I  thought  that  if  you  knew,  you  would 
try  and  overcome  it." 

"I  cannot!" 

"Mother!" 

"Lumley,  I  cannot!  She  looks  at  me  out 
of  his  eyes;  she  speaks  to  me  with  his  voice; 
something  tells  me  that  she  bears  in  her  heart 
his  hate  toward  me.  You  do  not  know  these 
Marionis!  They  are  one  in  hate  and  one  in 
love;  unchanging  and  hard  as  the  rocks  on 
which  their  castle  frowns.  Even  Margharita 
herself,  in  the  old  days,  never  forgave  me  for 
sending  Leonardo  to  prison,  although  I  saved 
her  lover's  life  as  well  as  mine.  Lumley,  you 
have  said  nothing  to  her?" 

"Not  yet." 

"She  would  not  marry  you !  I  tell  you  that 
in  her  heart  she  hates  us  all!  Sometimes  I 
fancy  that  she  is  here — only " 

"Mother!" 

He  laid  his  hand  firmly  upon  her  white 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          219 

trembling  arm.  She  looked  around,  following 
his  eyes.  Margharita,  pale  and  proud,  was 
standing  upon  the  threshold,  with  a  great 
bunch  of  white  hyacinths  in  the  bosom  of  her 
black  dress. 

"Am  I  intruding?"  she  asked  quietly.  "I 
will  come  down  some  other  evening." 

Lord  Lumley  sprang  forward  to  stop  her; 
but  his  mother  was  the  first  to  recover  herself. 

"Pray  don't  go  away,  Margharita,"  she  said, 
with  perfect  self-possession.  "Only  a  few 
minutes  ago  we  were  complaining  that  you 
came  down  so  seldom.  Lumley,  open  the 
piano,  and  get  Miss  Briscoe's  songs." 

He  was  by  her  side  in  a  moment,  but  he 
found  time  for  an  admiring  glance  toward  his 
mother.  She  had  taken  up  a  paper  knife,  and 
was  cutting  the  pages  of  her  book.  It  was  the 
savoir-faire  of  a  great  lady. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 
MARGHARITA'S  DIARY — A  CORRESPONDENCE 

Letter  from  Count  Leonardo  di  Marioni  to 
Miss  M.  Briscoe,  care  of  the  Earl  of  St. 
Maurice,  Mallory  Grange,  Lincolnshire. 

"HOTEL  DE  PARIS,TURIN. 

"My  BELOVED  NIECE:  Alas!  I  have  but 
another  disappointment  to  recount.  I  arrived 
here  last  night,  and  early  this  morning  I  visited 
the  address  which  I  obtained  at  Florence  with 
so  much  difficulty.  The  house  was  shut  up. 
From  inquiries  made  with  caution  among  the 
neighbors  I  learned  that  Andrea  Paschuli  had 
left  a  few  months  before  for  Rome.  Thither 
I  go  in  search  of  him. 

"The  delay  is  irksome,  but  it  is  necessary. 
Although  my  desire  for  the  day  of  my  ven- 
geance to  come  is  as  strong  as  ever,  I  would 
not  have  the  shadow  of  a  suspicion  rest  upon 
you.  Truly,  yours  will  be  no  crime,  but  the 
world  and  the  courts  of  justice  would  have  it 
otherwise.  You  will,  in  verity,  be  but  the  in- 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          221 

strument.  Upon  my  head  be  the  guilt,  as  mine 
will  be  the  exceeding  joy,  when  the  thing  for 
which  I  crave  is  accomplished.  Bless  you,  my 
child,  that  you  have  elected  to  aid  me  in  carry- 
ing out  this  most  just  requital!  Bless  you,  my 
child,  that  you  have  chosen  to  bring  peace 
into  the  heart  of  one  who  has  known  great 
suffering ! 

"Your  last  letter  was  short;  yet  I  do  not 
wonder  at  it.  What  is  there  you  can  find  to 
say  to  me,  while  our  great  purpose  remains 
thus  in  abeyance  ?  My  health  continues  good, 
I  am  thankful  to  say,  yet,  were  it  otherwise,  I 
know  that  my  strength  would  linger  with  me 
till  my  oath  is  accomplished.  Till  that  day 
shall  come  death  itself  has  no  power  over  me. 
Even  though  its  shadow  lay  across  my  path  I 
could  still  defy  it.  Think  not  that  I  am  blas- 
pheming, Margharita,  or  that  I  believe  in  no 
God.  I  believe  in  a  God  of  justice,  and  he  will 
award  me  my  right.  Oh,  that  the  time  may  be 
short,  for  I  am  growing  weary.  Life  is  very 
burdensome,  save  only  for  its  end. 

"Sometimes,  my  beloved  Margharita,  you 
have  sought  to  lighten  the  deep  gloom  through 
which  I  struggle,  by  picturing  the  happy  days 
we  may  yet  spend  together  in  some  far-distant 
country,  where  the  shadows  of  this  great  selfish 
world  barely  reach,  and  its  mighty  roar  and 


322    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

tumult  sound  but  as  a  faint,  low  murmur.  I 
have  listened,  but  I  have  answered  not ;  for  in 
my  heart  I  know  that  it  will  never  be.  Those 
days  will  never  come.  I  have  shrunk  from 
throwing  a  chill  upon  your  warm,  generous 
heart;  but  of  late  I  have  wondered  whether  I 
do  well  in  thus  silently  deceiving  you.  For, 
Margharita,  there  is  no  such  time  of  peaceful 
happiness  in  store  for  me.  I  am  dying!  Nay, 
do  not  start!  Do  not  pity  me!  Do  not  fear! 
I  know  it  so  well;  and  I  feel  no  pang,  no 
sorrow.  The  limit  of  my  days  is  fixed — not  in 
actual  days  or  weeks,  but  by  events.  I  shall 
live  to  see  my  desire  accomplished,  and  then  I 
shall  die.  The  light  may  flicker,  but,  till  then, 
it  will  not  go  out.  You  will  ask  me :  Who  am 
I  that  I  dare  to  fix  a  limit  to  an  existence  which 
God  alone  controls?  I  cannot  tell  you,  Mar- 
garita, why  I  know,  or  how,  yet  it  is  surely  so. 
The  day  which  sees  me  free  of  my  vow  will  also 
be  the  day  of  my  death. 

"Trouble  not,  my  child,  at  this  thought,  nor 
wonder  why  I  can  write  of  the  end  of  my  days 
;so  calmly.  Ask  yourself  rather  what  further 
life  could  mean  for  me.  There  is  no  joy  which 
I  desire;  my  worn-out  frame  could  find  no 
pleasure  in  dragging  out  a  tasteless  and  profit- 
less existence.  I  look  for  death  as  one  looks 
for  his  couch  who  has  toiled  and  labored 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          223 

through  the  heat  of  the  day.     I   shall  find 
there  rest  and  peace.    I  have  no  other  desire. 

"For  yourself,  Margharita,  have  no  fear.  I 
have  made  your  fortune  my  care,  and  God 
grant  that  it  may  be  a  happy  one.  Honest 
men  have  made  good  profit  out  of  my  lands 
during  my  imprisonment.  I  have  wealth  to 
leave,  and  it  is  yours.  The  Castle  of  the 
Marionis  will  be  yours,  and  well  I  know  you 
will  raise  once  more  and  uphold  the  mighty, 
though  fallen,  traditions  of  our  race.  I  leave 
all  fearlessly  in  your  hands,  at  your  entire  dis- 
posal. Only  one  thing  I  beg  of  you,  and  that 
without  fear  of  refusal.  Marry  not  an  English- 
man. Marry  one  of  the  nobility  of  our  own 
island,  if  you  can  find  one  worthy  of  you;  if 
not,  there  are  nobles  of  Italy  with  whom  your 
alliance  would  be  an  honor,  and  also  a  profit. 
You  will  be  rich  as  you  are  beautiful ;  and  the 
first  lady  in  Italy,  our  distant  kinswoman, 
Angela  di  Carlotti,  will  be  your  guardian  and 
your  friend.  May  you  be  very,  very  happy, 
dearest;  and  all  that  comes  to  you  you  will 
deserve,  for  you  have  lightened  the  heart  of  a 
weary  old  man,  whose  blessing  is  yours,  now 
and  for  ever. 

"LEONARDO  DI  MARIONI." 


224          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 


Letter  from  Margharita  Briscoe  to  the  Count 
Leonardo  di  Marioni,  care  of  the  Princess 
di  Carlotti,  Palazzo  Carlotti,  Rome. 

"My  DEAR,  DEAR  UNCLE:  I  am  inclined  to 
scold  you  for  your  letter,  for  it  made  me  very 
sad.  Why  should  you  be  so  sure  of  dying  just 
as  the  vengeance  which  is  your  due  becomes 
yours  ?  You  are  not  very  old,  and  I  can  nurse 
you  even  as  I  did  before.  Think  how  lonely 
I  should  be  without  you.  No,  you  must  not 
think  of  leaving  me.  I  forbid  it !  It  is  morbid. 
Banish  that  fancy  for  my  sake,  and  try  and 
think  of  a  quiet  happy  life  together,  away  in 
some  southern  city,  where  the  sea  and  the  sky 
are  blue,  and  the  sun  is  warm,  and  the  breezes 
are  soft  and  laden  with  the  perfume  of  sweet 
flowers.  We  would  never  live  in  this  country, 
would  we?  I  do  not  like  it.  It  is  cold  and 
damp,  and  it  chills  me,  chills  even  my  heart. 
Oh !  I  know  just  the  life  we  could  live  together, 
and  be  very,  very  happy.  Write  to  me  no 
more  of  death. 

"I  am  quite  settled  down  here,  waiting.  My 
duties  are  light,  and  I  do  not  find  them  irksome. 
Every  day  I  realize  that  I  did  well  in  coming 
here  as  a  governess,  and  not  as  one  seeking  a 
home.  They  think  that  it  is  because  of  my 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          225 

pride  that  I  have  willed  it  so.  They  do  not 
know. 

"Lady  St  Maurice  tries  to  be  kind  to  me  in 
her  way;  but  when  the  honeyed  words  are 
upon  her  lips,  I  think  of  you  and  my  heart  is 
steel.  She  must  have  been  a  very  beautiful 
woman — nay,  she  is  beautiful  now !  You  asked 
me  in  your  first  letter  to  watch  well  and  to  tell 
you  whether  they  were  happy  together.  You 
asked  me,  and  I  tell  you  the  truth. 

"Yes !  I  think  that  of  all  the  women  whom 
I  have  ever  seen,  her  life  seems  to  have  flown 
along  the  most  calmly  and  peacefully.  I  have 
never  seen  a  cloud  upon  her  brow;  I  hate 
her  for  it.  She  has  no  right  to  be  happy; 
she  who  by  such  treachery  condemned  you 
to  a  living  death.  Once  my  anger  rose  up 
so  fiercely  that  I  nearly  struck  her,  and  I  had 
to  hurry  from  the  room  lest  I  should  betray 
myself  before  the  time.  Truly  she  deserves 
punishment,  and  my  hand  shall  not  shrink  from 
inflicting  it. 

"Yet,  after  all,  is  death  the  most  complete 
form  of  punishment.  Sometimes  I  doubt  it. 
I  would  mar  the  beauty  of  her  face  for  ever, 
and  laugh.  I  would  strike  her  blind  gladly;  I 
would  make  her  a  cripple  for  life,  without  re- 
morse, without  hesitation.  To  see  her  suffer 
would  please  me.  I  should  have  no  pity ! 


226          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"But  death,  uncle!  If  anything  of  our  re- 
ligion be  true,  would  death  be  so  terrible  a 
thing?  Against  my  will  I  see  that  her  life  is 
good.  She  has  made  her  home  what  it  should 
be,  and  her  husband  happy.  She  is  a  devoted 
Christian,  and,  wet  or  fine,  every  Sunday 
morning  before  breakfast,  she  goes  to  the  little 
church  in  the  village  and  kneels  before  the 
altar.  She  visits  the  sick  and  the  poor,  and 
they  love  her.  For  me,  religion  has  become 
something  of  a  dream.  I  was  brought  up  a 
Roman  Catholic.  What  I  am  now  I  do  not 
know!  When  I  vowed  my  life  to  its  present 
purpose  I  filled  it  with  new  thoughts;  I  put 
my  religion  away  from  me.  I  could  not  kneel 
with  hate  in  my  heart ;  I  could  not  confess,  with 
the  desire  to  kill  in  my  bosom. 

"Yet  let  that  pass.  Supposing  there  be  a 
heaven,  if  we  kill  her  for  her  treachery  to  you 
will  not  that  sin  be  wiped  out?  May  she  not 
gain  heaven?  And  if  so,  what  of  our  ven- 
geance? Death  is  swift!  What  will  she 
suffer?  It  will  be  those  who  are  left  behind 
who  will  feel  the  pain ;  for  her,  there  will  be  a 
happiness  beyond  even  the  happiness  of  earth. 
She  will  be  shriven  of  her  sin  by  our  ven- 
geance. 

"Think  of  this,  my  dear  uncle!  Do  not 
imagine  that  I  am  growing  faint-hearted;  do 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    227 

not  imagine  that  I  am  drawing  back  from  the 
task  which  I  now  claim  as  my  right.  Death, 
or  some  other  sort  of  punishment,  shall  surely 
fall  upon  her;  she  shall  not  escape!  Only 
think  what  is  best. 

"Write  to  me  all  that  is  in  your  heart.  Fear 
not  to  speak  outi  I  would  know  all.  Fare- 
well !  Your  loving  MARGHARITA." 


Letter  from  the  Count  Leonardo  di  Marioni, 
the  Palazzo  Carlotti,  Rome,  to  Miss 
Margharita  Briscoe,  Mallory  Grange, 
Lincolnshire. 

"BELOVED  MARGHARITA  :  I  will  confess  that 
your  letter  troubles  me.  If  there  be  heaven 
for  the  woman  who  wrecked  my  life,  there  is  no 
heaven  for  me,  no  religion,  no  God.  You  say 
that  she  is  a  good  woman.  She  is  then  a  good 
woman  through  fear.  She  seeks  to  atone,  but 
she  can  never  atone.  She  won  a  boy's  passion- 
ate love;  she  wore  his  heart  upon  her  sleeve; 
she  cast  it  away  at  the  moment  of  her  pleasure. 
She  broke  the  vows  of  an  order,  which  should 
have  been  as  sacred  to  her  as  the  face  of  God 
to  the  angels;  and  she  sent  a  Marioni  to  rot 
through  a  useless  life  in  a  miserable  prison. 
The  boy  whose  heart  she  broke,  and  the  man 
whose  life  she  severed,  lives  only  to  nurse  his 


228          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

unchanging  and  unchangeable  hate  for  her. 
Away  with  all  other  thoughts,  my  vengeance 
knows  but  one  end,  and  that  is  death!  Not 
sudden  death,  mind!  but  death — slow,  linger- 
ing, and  painful.  I  would  see  the  struggle 
against  some  mysterious  sickness,  with  my  own 
eyes;  I  would  stand  by  the  bedside  and  mock. 
I  would  watch  the  cheeks  grow  thin  and  pale, 
and  the  eyes  grow  dim.  She  should  know  me 
in  those  last  moments.  She  should  see  me,  the 
wasted  shadow  of  a  man,  myself  on  the 
threshold  of  the  grave,  standing  by  her  bed- 
side, cold  and  unpitying,  and  holding  out 
toward  her  a  white  hyacinth. 

"That  is  how  I  would  have  it,  though  thus  it 
may  not  be.  Yet  speak  to  me  not  of  any  other 
vengeance  save  death.  Let  none  other  dwell 
for  a  moment  in  your  thoughts,  I  solemnly 
charge  you,  Margharita. 

"As  to  my  search,  it  has  not  yet,  alas,  been 
successful.  Think  not  that  I  have  lost  heart, 
or  that  I  am  discouraged.  Never  fear 
but  that  I  shall  find  the  man  whom  I  seek — 
if  not,  there  are  others.  I  give  myself  one 
month  longer;  at  the  end  of  that  time,  if  Pas- 
chuli  be  not  found,  another  must  serve  my 
purpose. 

"The  Princess  is  much  interested  in  you,  and 
sends  her  love.  She  is  impatient  to  take  you 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          229 

under  her  care.    I  have  told  her  that  it  will  not 
be  long — nor  will  it. 

"Farewell,  my  child.    Soon  I  shall  send  you 
the  good  news. — Yours, 

"LEONARDO  DI  MARION i." 


CHAPTER   XXIV 
"WHITE  HYACINTHS" 

I  AM  driven  to  what  is  either  the  vehicle  for 
the  sentimental  vaporings  of  a  school  girl,  or 
the  last  resource  of  a  desperate,  friendless 
woman.  I  am  going  to  set  down  on  blank 
paper  the  record  of  events  here  just  in  the 
way  they  occur  to  me.  I  am  going  to  enjoy 
the  luxury  of  being  honest  to  myself.  I  need 
not  say  in  which  of  the  above  states  I  am. 
That  is  soon  shown. 

I  would  to  God  that  I  had  died  before  I  had 
come  here;  before  I  had  sought  out  my  uncle, 
Count  Marioni,  and  listened  to  the  pitiful  story 
of  his  wrongs.  I  am  pledged  to  a  purpose  so 
awful  that  I  dare  not  think  of  it.  Day  by  day 
I  am  expecting  the  time  to  arrive  for  the 
accomplishment  of  my  hideous  vow.  God  keep 
it  back !  Keep  me  innocent  a  little  longer ! 

I  write  this  in  a  weak  moment.  There  are 
times  when  my  uncle's  wistful  eyes  seem 
turned  upon  me,  full  of  mute  pleading,  and 
the  old  spirit  of  my  race  stirs  up  a  great  pas- 
sion of  hate  in  my  heart.  Then  the  thing 

230 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          231 

seems  easy ;  I  long  for  a  weapon  that  I  may  end 
the  struggle,  and  avenge  the  man  who  looks  to 
me  to  strike.  Her  gentle  manners  and  kind 
words  have  no  influence.  I  am  adamant.  I 
look  across  the  sea,  and  I  see  the  figure  of  a 
man,  pale  and  lonely,  languishing  year  by  year 
in  a  Roman  prison.  Then,  indeed,  my  heart  is 
hard  and  my  hand  is  ready ! 

But  there  are  other  times,  such  as  these, 
when  I  loathe  myself  and  the  part  I  am  play- 
ing; when  an  unutterable  horror  comes  upon 
me,  and  I  see  myself  and  my  purpose  in  hide- 
ous, ghastly  colors.  It  is  such  a  mood  that  has 
driven  me  to  make  use  of  this  dumb  confidant, 
that  I  may  confess  what  this  thing  is  which 
has  dawned  upon  me.  My  cheeks  are  stained 
with  shame  as  I  write  it.  Never  could  it 
have  passed  my  lips.  Oh!  my  love,  my  love, 
cursed  am  I  that  I  love  you ! 

He  shall  never  know  it !  He  thinks  me  cold 
and  capricious!  Let  him!  It  is  my  purpose 
to  make  him  suffer,  and  he  shall  suffer!  In 
that  I  will  be  true  to  my  oath;  I  will  make  of 
this  weakness  a  scourge!  No  one  will  know 
what  it  costs  me!  No  one  will  know  how 
sweet  to  me  are  the  words  which  I  train  my 
lips  to  answer  with  scorn!  Never  a  tender 
look  or  word  shall  he  gain  from  me;  yet  this 
much  can  I  promise  myself.  No  one  else 


232          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

shall  ever  be  dear  to  me!  No  other  lover  will 
I  have  save  his  memory!  He  thinks  that  I 
dislike  him!  He  shall  think  so  to  the  end! 
He  shall  never  know — never! 

I  took  up  a  novel  this  morning,  and  tried  to 
read,  but  could  not.  Ah!  those  fools  who 
write  about  a  woman's  love — what  do  they 
know  about  it?  Nothing!  less  than  nothing! 
I,  Margharita,  am  nineteen  years  old,  and  I 
love!  I  would  die  this  moment  cheerfully, 
sooner  than  he  should  know  it!  Yet,  though 
I  shall  never  hear  one  word  of  love  from  his 
lips,  or  rest  for  one  moment  in  his  arms; 
though  I  live  to  be  an  old  woman,  I  would 
starve,  beg,  die,  sooner  than  give  myself  to  any 
other  man.  To  have  loved,  even  though  the 
love  be  unknown,  and  to  have  been  loved, 
even  though  it  be  silently,  is  sweet  to  a  woman. 
She  can  crystallize  the  memory  in  her  heart 
and  pass  through  life  sad,  perhaps,  yet  content, 
cold  and  deaf  to  all  other  voices.  They  say 
that  a  man  is  not  like  this.  Perhaps!  A 
woman's  nature  is  finer  than  a  man's — less 
passionate,  but  more  devoted. 

To-night,  as  the  dressing  bell  rang,  and  I 
was  coming  upstairs  to  change  my  gown  for 
dinner,  he  met  me  in  the  hall  and  offered  me — 
a  spray  of  white  hyacinths!  How  my  fingers 
shook  as  I  took  them!  White  hyacinths!  If 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          233 

he  had  only  known  what  he  had  been  doing. 
White  hyacinths!  What  was  that  oath — 
"Vengeance  upon  traitors."  Does  she  remem- 
ber it,  I  wonder?  I  think  that  she  does,  for  I 
wore  them  in  the  bosom  of  my  dress,  and  she 
turned  pale  when  she  glanced  at  them.  She 
looked  at  me  as  though  she  were  afraid.  Does 
my  face  remind  her  of  the  past,  I  wonder? 
She  told  me  that  my  features  are  the  features 
of  the  Marionis,  and  I  know  that  I  am  like 
my  mother!  I  am  glad  of  it!  I  would  have 
my  face  bring  a  pang  to  her  heart  every  time 
she  looks  at  it.  That  is  justice ! 

She  looked,  as  though  fascinated,  at  the 
bunch  of  white  flowers  in  my  bosom.  I  took 
care  to  let  her  know  that  Lord  Lumley  had 
given  them  to  me.  I  am  never  so  gracious  to 
him  as  in  her  presence. 

"By  the  by,  mother,"  he  said,  during  a  pause 
in  the  conversation,  "I  have  noticed  that, 
while  you  use  every  other  color  of  hyacinths 
for  table  decorations,  you  never  use  any  white 
ones.  Why  is  it?" 

She  looked  at  her  husband.  I  saw  their 
eyes  meet  across  the  table,  and  that  look  told 
me  how  near  the  past  was  to  their  thoughts. 

"It  is  a  flower  I  do  not  care  for,  Lumley," 
she  said  quietly.  "The  perfume  is  too  faint. 
Besides,  they  are  so  suggestive  of  funerals." 


234          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"Perhaps  you  would  prefer  my  not  wearing 
mine,  then,"  I  remarked  carelessly.  "I  will 
throw  them  away." 

I  saw  him  bite  his  lip  and  frown,  and  I 
laughed  to  myself.  Lady  St.  Maurice  was 
hesitating. 

"I  should  be  sorry  for  you  to  do  that,"  she 
said.  "Groves  can  take  them  away  until  after 
dinner,  if  you  would  not  mind." 

"They  are  scarcely  worth  keeping,"  I  went 
on,  drawing  them  from  my  corsage.  "I  care 
nothing  for  them  after  all,"  and  opening  the 
window  just  behind  my  chair,  I  threw  them 
into  the  darkness. 

Lord  Lumley  came  to  me  in  the  drawing 
room  afterward. 

"It  was  scarcely  kind  of  you  to  throw  my 
flowers  away,"  he  said,  bending  over  my  chair. 

I  turned  back  with  my  hands  clasped  behind 
my  head  and  laughed  up  at  him. 

"Why  not?  They  were  nothing  to  me.  It 
was  kind  to  your  mother  at  any  rate." 

Oh !  hypocrite !  hypocrite !  If  he  could  only 
have  seen  me  a  few  minutes  before,  stealing 
along  in  the  shadow  of  the  shrubs  outside 
looking  about  in  the  darkness  till  I  had  found 
them,  and  holding  them  passionately  to  my 
lips.  They  were  in  my  pocket  then,  wrapped 
in  a  lace  handkerchief.  They  are  in  a  secret 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          235 

drawer  of  my  desk  now,  and  there  will  they 
remain  forever.  I  do  not  mind  confessing  that 
they  are  very  precious  to  me.  But  he  does 
not  know  that. 

He  turned  away  offended  and  left  me. 
But  I  went  to  the  piano  and  sang  a  wild 
Neapolitan  love  song,  and  when  I  had  finished 
he  was  leaning  over  me  with  a  deep  glow  in 
his  pale  cheeks  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  mine. 
Does  he  know  how  handsome  he  is,  I  wonder? 
Whence  did  I  get  the  strength  to  look  into 
those  deep  blue  eyes,  burning  with  passion, 
and  mock  at  him  ? 

"You  sing  divinely  of  what  you  know 
nothing !"  he  said. 

"Isn't  that  rather  a  rash  assumption?"  I 
answered  lightly.  "You  are  paying  me  a 
poor  compliment  in  taking  it  for  granted  that 
I  never  had  a  lover,  Lord  Lumley." 

"Have  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  heaps !" 

"Are  you  engaged,  then  ?"  he  asked  fiercely. 

"How  like  a  man  you  jump  at  conclusions !" 

"But,  are  you?" 

"Is  it  your  business,  Lord  Lumley?" 

"Yes!" 

"Then  if  you  make  everybody's  love  affairs 
your  concern,  you  must  find  plenty  to  interest 
you." 


236  TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

"There  is  only  one  person  in  the  world  in 
whose  love  affairs  I  am  interested." 

"Naturally!"  I  answered.  "Whose  else 
should  be  so  interesting  as  your  own  ?" 

"I  did  not  mean  that !"  he  exclaimed,  almost 
angrily.  "You  are  bandying  words  with  me." 

"On  the  contrary,  it  is  you  who  seem  bent 
on  mystifying  me,"  I  answered,  laughing. 

"You  shall  hear  me  speak  more  plainly  then." 

"I  would  rather  not.  Enigmas  are  so 
much  more  interesting.  Will  you  allow  me  to 
pass  ?" 

"Why,"  he  asked,  without  moving  an  inch. 

"Because,  as  your  mother  does  not  seem  to 
be  coming  in  again,  I  should  prefer  going  to 
my  room." 

"She  is  coming  in  again.  I  heard  her  order 
coffee  here  in  ten  minutes." 

"I  don't  want  any  coffee,  and  I  won't  be 
kept  here.  Lord  Lumley,  be  so  good  as  to 
allow  me  to  pass." 

"In  one  minute,  Margharita.    I " 

"Lord  Lumley,  I  allow  no  man  to  call  me  by 
my  Christian  name  without  permission." 

"Then  give  me  permission." 

"Never!" 

"You  don't  mean  that?" 

"I  do!  Lord  Lumley,  allow  me  to  pass.  I 
will  not  be  kept  here  against  my  will  1" 


237 

He  caught  hold  of  my  wrist,  but  I  snatched 
my  hand  away. 

"Margharita,  listen!  I  love  you.  Why 
should  you  be  angry?  I  want  you  to  be  my 
wife."  ' 

I  believe  he  thought  that  I  was  won.  I  had 
sunk  down  upon  the  music  stool  and  covered 
my  face  with  my  hands.  My  bosom  was  heav- 
ing with  sobs.  With  all  my  strength  I  was 
battling  with  a  strange  bewildering  succession 
of  feelings.  In  reality  I  was  more  exquisitely 
and  perfectly  happy  than  I  had  ever  dreamed 
of. 

I  felt  his  strong  hands  close  over  my  fingers 
and  remove  them  one  by  one.  His  head  was 
quite  close  to  mine,  and  suddenly  I  felt  his 
mustache  brush  my  cheek. 

I  sprang  to  my  feet,  wildly,  fiercely  angry. 
My  eyes  were  flashing,  and  I  had  drawn  my- 
self up  until  I  seemed  almost  as  tall  as  he  was. 
If  he  had  dared  to  kiss  me.  Oh!  if  he  had 
dared ! 

"Let  me  pass!"  I  cried  passionately.  "Let 
me  pass  at  once,  I  say." 

He  fell  back  immediately.  He  was  half 
frightened,  half  puzzled. 

"Lord  Lumley,  I  never  wish  you  to  speak  to 
me  again,"  I  cried,  trembling  all  over  with  pas- 
sionate indignation,  and  dashing  the  tears  from 


338          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

my  eyes.  "I  hate  you.  Do  you  hear !  I  hate 
you!" 

He  ought  to  have  been  abashed,  but  he  was 
not. 

"You  have  no  cause  to  hate  me!"  he  said 
proudly.  "Surely  a  man  does  not  insult  a 
woman  by  offering  her  his  love,  as  I  have 
offered  you  mine.  I  scarcely  see  at  least  how 
I  have  deserved  your  anger." 

Suddenly  his  voice  broke  down,  and  he  went 
on  in  a  very  altered  tone : 

"Oh,  Margharita,  my  love,  my  love!  Give 
me  one  word  of  hope!  Tell  me  at  least  that 
you  are  not  really  angry  with  me." 

And  then,  without  a  moment's  warning,  the 
fire  of  indignation  which  had  leaped  up  to  help 
me  suddenly  died  out.  He  was  standing  re- 
spectfully away  from  me,  pale  and  dignified. 
His  face  was  full  of  emotion,  and  his  hands 
were  trembling;  but  some  instinct  seemed  to 
have  told  him  how  I  hated  his  touch,  and  he 
did  not  attempt  even  to  hold  my  hand.  Oh! 
that  moment,  terrible  as  it  was  at  the  time, 
will  be  very  sweet  to  think  upon  in  after  days. 

My  strength  had  come  to  an  end.  I  knew 
that  I  was  in  terrible  risk  of  undoing  all  that 
I  had  done,  but  I  could  not  help  it.  That 
moment  seemed  somehow  sacred.  Although 
my  whole  life  was  itself  a  lie,  I  could  not  then 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE   HE   SOUGHT  239 

have  looked  in  his  eyes  and  spoken  falsely. 
If  I  had  let  him  see  my  face,  though  only  for 
an  instant,  he  would  have  known  my  secret; 
so  I  buried  it  in  my  hands,  and  swept  from 
the  room  before  he  could  stop  me. 

Am  I  more  happy  or  more  miserable,  I 
wonder,  since  he  has  spoken  those  words  which 
seem  to  be  ever  ringing  in  my  ears?  Both,  I 
think!  Life  is  more  intense;  it  has  other 
depths  now  besides  that  well  of  hate  and  pity 
which  has  brought  me  into  this  household.  At 
any  rate,  I  have  felt  emotions  to-night  which  I 
never  dreamed  of  before. 

If  only  he  knew — knew  all,  how  he  would 
scorn,  hate,  despise  me!  How  he  would 
hasten  to  drive  me  out  of  his  memory,  to 
crush  every  tender  thought  of  me,  to  purge 
his  heart  of  love  for  me,  to  pluck  it  up  by  the 
roots  and  cast  it  away  forever!  Would  he 
find  it  an  easy  task,  I  wonder?  Perhaps.  He 
loves  his  mother  so  much.  Why  should  he 
not?  So  far  as  he  is  concerned,  she  deserves 
it.  She  is  a  good  mother,  and  a  good  wife. 
If  it  were  not  for  the  past  I  would  call  her  a 
good  woman.  Sometimes  I  wish  that  she 
were  not  so,  that  she  was  still  vain  and 
heartless,  the  same  woman  who,  for  the  sake 
of  an  alien  and  a  stranger,  brought  down  a 
living  death  upon  the  man  who  had  trusted  her 


240          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

with  his  most  sacred  secrets;  and  that  man 
the  last  of  the  Marionis,  my  uncle.  I  think 
of  it,  and  coldness  steals  once  more  into  my 
heart.  What  she  is  now  is  of  no  account. 
It  is  the  past  for  which  she  must  suffer. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

AMONG   THE   PINE   TREES 

THIS  morning  I  heard  noises  about  the  house 
quite  early  and  heavy  footsteps  in  the  drive. 
I  was  awake — it  was  only  a  few  minutes  since 
I  had  been  sitting  at  the  window  watching  the 
day  break  over  the  sea,  and  I  had  the  curiosity 
to  look  out.  I  think  that  something  must  have 
told  me  what  it  meant,  for  my  heart  sank  even 
before  I  had  any  idea  of  what  was  going  on. 
There  were  two  sailors  from  Lord  Lumley's 
yacht  in  the  bay,  carrying  great  hampers  down 
from  the  house.  I  guessed  it  all  in  a  moment ; 
he  was  going  away. 

I  put  on  my  dressing-gown  and  sat  down  in 
a  low  chair  to  watch.  Through  a  chink  in  the 
blind  I  could  keep  it  lowered  and  still  see  quite 
plainly.  Presently  I  saw  him  appear  in  his 
yachting  clothes,  with  oilskins  on  his  arm. 
Would  he  glance  up  at  all,  I  wondered.  Yes ; 
at  the  bend  in  the  shrubbery  he  turned  and 
looked  for  a  full  minute  up  at  my  window. 
It  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  waving  him 

to  come  back.     How  pale  he  was,  and  how 

341 


242          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

dejected  his  walk  seemed.  My  eyes  grew  dim, 
and  there  was  a  lump  in  my  throat  as  he  turned 
and  walked  away.  Would  it  have  made  any 
difference,  I  wonder,  if  he  had  known  of  my 
being  there;  if  he  could  have  seen  my  poor, 
sad,  tear-stained  face?  I  think  that  it  would. 

He  has  gone.  I  have  seen  the  last  of  him. 
Am  I  glad  or  sorry,  I  wonder.  Glad  that  my 
task  has  become  so  much  easier,  or  sorry 
for  my  own  unreasoning,  selfish  sake.  Why 
should  I  be  a  hypocrite?  These  pages  are  to 
be  the  mirror  of  my  heart.  To  others  my  whole 
life  is  a  lie.  I  write  here  so  that  I  may  retain 
some  faint  knowledge  of  what  truth  really  is.  I 
am  sorry — desperately,  foolishly  sorry.  I  know 
that  my  cheeks  are  leaden,  and  my  heart  is 
heavy.  There  is  no  light  in  the  day;  none  of 
that  swift,  keen  struggling  with  myself  which 
his  presence  always  imposed.  He  is  gone,  and 
I  miss  them ;  I  should  have  laughed  a  few  short 
days  ago  to  have  believed  this  true.  But  it  is 
true! 

The  first  bell  has  gone,  and  I  have  drawn 
up  my  blind.  The  promise  of  that  blood-red 
sunrise  has  been  fulfilled.  I  wish  that  he  had 
waited  another  day.  I  have  an  idea  that  there 
is  going  to  be  a  storm.  There  is  a  pale  yellow 
light  in  the  sky  which  I  do  not  like,  and,  as  far 
as  one  can  see,  the  waves  are  crested  with  white 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          243 

foam.  It  is  an  ugly  sea  and  an  ugly  sky.  I 
wish  that  I  were  going  with  him,  and  that  a 
storm  might  come  and  we  might  die  together. 
I  would  not  mind  his  holding  me  in  his  arms 
then.  We  would  die  like  that,  and  death  would 
be  joy. 

At  breakfast  I  was  able  to  take  the  news  of 
his  departure  without  making  any  sign.  I 
fancy  that  Lady  St.  Maurice  was  watching  me 
when  she  made  the  announcement.  If  she  was 
expecting  to  read  my  thoughts  and  fears  she 
was  disappointed.  She  could  have  seen  noth- 
ing but  the  most  utter  indifference.  I  felt  that 
my  mask  was  perfect. 

But  as  the  day  wore  on  my  task  grew  harder. 
The  wind,  which  had  been  blowing  hard  all  the 
morning,  became  a  hurricane,  and  even  in  the 
house,  with  closed  doors  and  windows,  we  could 
hear  the  far-off  thunder  of  the  sea  sweeping  in 
against  the  cliffs.  Every  one  in  the  household 
became  strangely  restless  and  anxious.  Lord 
St.  Maurice,  with  a  field  glass  under  his  arm, 
went  out  upon  the  cliffs,  and  he  returned  hat- 
less  and  with  his  coat  ripped  up,  shaking  his 
head  with  ill-affected  cheerfulness.  There  was 
no  sign  of  the  Stormy  Petrel. 

"Lumley  would  make  for  Yarmouth  harbor 
directly  he  saw  this  beast  of  a  gale  blowing  up," 
he  declared,  walking  up  and  down  the  morning 


244          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

room  with  troubled  face.  "He  is  a  little  care- 
less, but  he  is  an  excellent  sailor,  and  he  must 
have  seen  that  there  was  dirty  weather  brew- 
ing. It  isn't  as  though  it  were  a  sudden  squall, 
you  know,  or  anything  of  that  sort.  There  was 
plenty  of  warning.  All  the  same,  I  wish  he 
hadn't  started.  It  was  very  foolish,  and  I 
don't  like  such  whims.  I  didn't  hear  him  say 
anything  about  a  cruise  yesterday.  Did  you, 
Adrienne  ?" 

Was  it  my  fancy,  or  did  Lady  St.  Maurice 
indeed  glance  at  me  as  she  answered : 

"No,  I  heard  nothing.  Late  last  night  he 
came  to  my  room  and  told  me  that  he  had  given 
Groves  some  orders,  and  that  he  should  leave 
quite  early  this  morning." 

Lord  St.  Maurice  frowned. 

"It  is  most  extraordinary,"  he  said.  "He 
gave  you  no  reason  whatever,  then  ?" 

"None!" 

"Did  he  say  where  he  was  going  to  ?  We 
were  shooting  together  all  yesterday  afternoon, 
and  he  said  not  a  word  about  going  away.  On 
the  contrary,  he  arranged  to  go  to  Norwich  on 
Thursday  to  look  at  some  horses." 

The  Countess  shook  her  head. 

"I  know  no  more  than  you  do,  Geoffrey.  I 
asked  him  where  he  was  going,  and  he  did  not 
seem  at  all  sure.  He  said  that  he  would  write 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          245 

if  he  remained  away  more  than  a  day  or  two. 
You  know  how  uncertain  he  is." 

"It  is  very  inconsiderate  of  him,"  Lord  St. 
Maurice  declared,  leaving  the  room  abruptly. 
"I  am  surprised  at  Lumley." 

Lady  St.  Maurice  and  I  were  alone.  She 
was  pretending  to  read  and  I  to  work.  So  far 
as  she  was  concerned,  I  could  see  that  it  was 
a  pretence,  for  she  held  her  book  upside  down, 
and  for  my  part,  I  did  not  make  a  correct  stitch. 
I  knew  that  I  ought  to  have  been  calm,  that 
I  was  imperiling  my  secret  every  moment. 
When  at  last  she  spoke  to  me,  I  made  a  great 
effort  to  control  my  tone. 

"Lord  Lumley  said  nothing  to  you,  I  sup- 
pose, Margharita,  about  going  away?" 

"Nothing  whatever,"  I  answered  quietly. 
"He  would  be  scarcely  likely  to  mention  his 
plans  to  me  and  not  to  you  or  Lord  St. 
Maurice." 

I  was  forced  to  look  up,  and  I  met  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  me  with  a  look  which  I  had  seen 
there  once  or  twice  before.  It  was  almost  a 
look  of  fear,  as  though  she  saw  in  my  face 
something  which  aroused  a  host  of  sad,  dimly- 
veiled  memories.  Was  she  wondering  whether 
the  presence  of  a  Marioni  in  her  house  boded 
ill-fortune  to  herself  and  those  who  were  dear 
to  her  ?  It  may  have  been  so. 


246          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

She  did  not  answer  immediately,  and  I  took 
advantage  of  the  pause  to  leave  the  room.  I 
could  not  bear  to  talk  to  her. 

Ought  I  not  to  have  been  glad  at  all  this — 
to  have  watched  her  pale,  suffering  face  with 
satisfaction,  and  even  with  inward  joy.  Was 
she  not  in  trouble  greater  than  any  I  could 
bring  upon  her,  and,  indeed,  had  I  not  had  a 
hand  in  it  ?  Was  it  not  I  who  had  driven  her 
son  out  into  this  danger?  Should  I  not  have 
rejoiced?  Alas!  alas!  how  could  I,  when  my 
own  heart  was  beating  fast  in  a  very  agony  of 
sickening  fear. 

My  little  pupil  was  away  for  the  day — gone 
to  play  with  the  clergyman's  children  down  in 
the  village,  and  my  time  was  my  own.  I  was 
thankful,  for  I  could  not  possibly  have  forced 
myself  into  the  wearisome  routine  of  lesson 
hearing  and  teaching.  Solitude  was  my  only 
relief. 

The  day  wore  on.  Servants  had  been  sent 
to  every  point  along  the  coast,  and  the  harbor 
master  at  Yarmouth  had  been  telegraphed  to 
every  hour.  I  stood  by  my  window,  looking 
out  in  the  fast  gathering  twilight,  until  I  could 
bear  it  no  longer.  Dashing  the  tears  from  my 
face,  I  caught  up  a  thick  cloak,  and  running 
softly  down  the  back  stairs,  left  the  house 
unobserved. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          247 

At  first  I  could  scarcely  stand,  and,  indeed, 
as  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  avenue  and 
faced  the  sea,  a  gust  of  wind  carried  me  off 
from  my  feet,  and  I  had  to  cling  to  the  low  iron 
railings  for  support.  The  thunder  of  the  storm 
and  the  waves  seemed  to  shake  the  air  around 
me.  The  sky  was  dark  and  riven  with  faint 
flashes  of  stormlight,  which  slanted  down  to 
the  sea.  By  hard  struggling  I  managed  to 
make  my  way  on  to  the  cliffs,  and  stood  there, 
looking  downward,  with  my  arm  passed  round 
a  tall  fir  sapling  for  support.  What  a  night  it 
was !  The  spray  of  the  waves  breaking  against 
the  cliff  leaped  up  into  my  face  mingled  with 
the  blinding  rain,  and  dimmed  my  vision  so  that 
I  could  only  catch  a  faint  view  of  the  boiling, 
seething  gulf  below.  Beyond,  all  was  chaos; 
for  a  gray  haze  floated  upon  the  water  and  met 
the  low  hanging  clouds.  And  clear  above  the 
deep  thunder  of  the  sea  came  the  shrill  yelling 
of  the  wind  in  the  pine  groves  which  fringed 
the  cliffs,  sounding  like  the  demoniacal  laugh- 
ter of  an  army  of  devils.  Shall  I  ever  forget 
the  horror  of  that  day,  I  wonder!  I  think 
not!  It  is  written  upon  a  page  of  my  mem- 
ory in  characters  over  which  time  can  have  no 
power. 

And  in  that  moment  of  agony,  when  my 
thoughts  were  full  of  his  peril,  I  wrestled  no 


248          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

longer  with  my  secret;  I  knew  that  I  loved 
him.  I  knew  that  he  was  dear  to  me  as  no 
other  man  could  be.  I  knew  that  I  was  face 
to  face  with  a  misery  unchanging  and  un- 
ending. 

Were  not  the  fates  themselves  fighting 
against  me  in  my  task?  That  it  should  be,  of 
all  men  upon  this  earth,  he,  the  son  of  the  wom- 
an whose  death  would  be  at  my  door.  A  mur- 
deress! Should  I  be  that!  The  wind  caught 
up  the  word  which  had  burst  from  my  pale  lips, 
and  I  seemed  to  hear  it  echoed  with  fiendish 
mirth  among  the  bending  tree  tops  of  the 
plantation.  A  murderess!  and  of  his  mother, 
the  mother  whom  he  loved  so  fondly!  If  he 
should  know  it !  If  the  day  should  come  when 
my  sin  should  be  laid  bare,  and  he  should 
know  that  he  had  given  his  love  to  such  a  one. 
Sin!  Was  it  a  sin?  Was  my  love  turning 
the  whole  world  upside  down  ?  Had  it  seemed 
so  to  me  before  ?  Was  it  sin  or  justice !  Oh ! 
to  whom  should  I  look  for  strength  to  hold  me 
to  my  purpose.  To  pray  would  be  blas- 
phemous. For  me  there  was  no  God,  no 
friend  on  earth,  no  heaven!  I  could  only 
think  of  that  one  shattered  life,  and  hug  it 
to  my  memory. 

I  wandered  backward  and  forward  in  the 
storm,  drenched  and  cold,  yet  all  unmindful  of 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          249 

my  state.  I  could  have  borne  no  roof  over  my 
head  in  those  hours  of  my  agony.  The  thought 
of  his  danger  maddened  me.  Even  though  I 
knew  so  well  that  he  could  be  nothing  to  me; 
that  if  he  knew  the  truth,  he  would  loathe  me ; 
that  soon  the  day  would  come  when  I  should 
scarcely  dare  to  raise  my  eyes  to  his  before  we 
parted  forever.  All  these  things  seemed  to 
make  me  long  the  more  passionately  to  look 
once  more  into  his  face,  to  know  that  he  was 
safe.  It  was  my  fault  that  he  was  in  this 
danger.  Horrible  thought ! 

I  was  exhausted ;  worn  out  in  body  and  mind 
by  the  sickening  fears  which  no  effort  of  will 
seemed  able  to  quell.  Even  my  limbs  at  last 
gave  way  beneath  me,  and  I  sank  upon  my 
knees,  holding  my  face  in  my  hands.  Had  the 
edge  of  the  cliff  been  a  little  nearer,  could  I 
have  done  it  without  any  physical  effort,  I  had 
been  content  to  close  my  eyes,  and  throw  my- 
self into  the  sea.  If  there  are  no  joys  in  death, 
at  least  there  is  rest. 

Then  a  voice  came  to  me. 

"Margharita!" 

I  leaped  up  from  the  wet  ground  with  wildly- 
beating  heart.  Was  it  some  mocking  trick  of 
the  storm — that  voice  in  my  ears,  that  dear, 
dear  voice?  My  eyes  seemed  dilated,  and 
through  the  deep  gloom  I  saw  a  tall  figure 


250          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

striding  toward  me.  Then  I  know  that  I  cried 
out  and  called  to  him  by  his  name ;  and  alas !  by 
the  tone  of  my  voice,  and  the  light  that  flashed 
into  my  face,  my  secret  was  gone !  For  evil  or 
for  good  he  knew  then  that  I  loved  him! 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

STORMS 

THERE  came  a  time  then  of  blessed  and 
grateful  unconsciousness.  The  tumult  of  the 
storm  was  reduced  to  a  mere  singing  in  my 
ears,  and  darkness  seemed  to  have  closed  in 
around  me.  When  I  opened  my  eyes,  I  was 
resting  in  his  arms,  and  a  delicious  sense  of 
happiness  was  stealing  through  me.  Sensation 
had  overpowered  memory,  and  I  was  happy. 
Ah!  if  life  could  have  ended  then — that  was 
how  I  felt.  If  only  the  future  and  that 
shrunken  relentless  figure  pointing  me  on  to 
tragedy — if  only  they  could  have  melted  away ! 
Alas !  alas ! 

He  had  become  bold  at  my  mute  self-yield- 
ing, and  at  something  which  he  must  have  seen 
in  my  face.  I  felt  him  bending  down  over  me, 
and  suddenly  my  lips  partly  opened  to  frame 
the  feeblest  of  protests  were  closed  in  a  long 
passionate  kiss,  and  his  arms  drew  me  toward 
him.  Still  I  made  no  effort  to  release  myself. 
A  desperate  self-abandonment  had  crept  in  up- 
on me.  The  happiness  of  that  moment  should 


252          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

recompense  me  for  the  misery  to  come.  Time 
took  to  itself  wings  then;  I  had  no  power  or 
will  to  measure  it.  If  hell  itself  had  been 
yawning  at  my  feet,  I  was  content. 

It  was  he  who  spoke  at  last,  still  clasping  my 
hands,  and  looking  eagerly  into  my  face. 

"Margharita,  my  love,  I  have  come  back  to 
you.  How  shall  I  bless  this  storm!" 

"Have  you  been  in  danger  ?"  I  asked  softly. 

"Nothing  to  speak  of,"  he  laughed.  "We  ran 
for  Yarmouth  harbor  directly  we  saw  what 
was  coming,  and  only  lost  a  few  spars.  What 
a  sea  it  was,  though.  Wave  after  wave  broke 
over  our  bows  and  swept  the  deck.  It  was  a 
miracle  we  lost  no  men." 

"And  how  is  it  that  you  are  home  so 
quickly  ?" 

"I  took  the  first  train  from  Yarmouth,  and 
wired  for  a  special  from  the  junction.  I 
knew  that  my  mother  would  be  anxious,  and 
they  told  me  that  there  was  very  little  chance 
of  telegrams  being  delivered  safely;  so  much 
damage  had  been  done  to  the  wires." 

"You  thought  of  no  one  but  your  mother?" 
I  whispered,  a  little  reproachfully. 

"My  darling!  how  was  I  to  know  that  any 
one  else  cared  ?" 

"Ah!" 

The  sense  of  relief  in  my  heart  was  over- 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          253 

powering.  I  seemed  to  have  no  desire  for 
speech.  The  sound  of  his  voice  was  like  music 
to  me,  and  I  preferred  to  listen. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  J  have  had  no  thought 
save  of  you,  Margharita,"  he  went  on  slowly. 
"In  all  that  storm,  when  flying  clouds  and  spray 
and  driving  rain  shut  us  in  on  every  side,  I 
thought  of  nothing  else  save  of  you.  No  one 
knows  the  boat  so  well  as  I,  and  for  the  last 
four  hours  I  was  lashed  to  a  board,  steering. 
Margharita,  all  that  time,  and  all  the  time  I 
stood  on  the  bridge,  I  seemed  to  see  you  always. 
Sometimes  it  was  the  mist  of  rain  and  spray 
which  opened  to  let  you  through;  and  some- 
times— sometimes  I  almost  fancied  that  you 
were  by  my  side.  Think  of  you,  Margharita ! 
Why,  I  was  a  haunted  man.  In  all  that  thunder 
of  sea  and  wind,  when  I  had  to  use  a  speaking 
trumpet  to  make  my  men  hear  me  a  few  yards 
away,  I  could  only  hear  your  voice  in  my  ears 
as  distinctly  as  you  hear  me  now.  They 
say  that  when  one  is  in  danger,  or  near  death, 
that  the  imagination  is  quickened.  It  must 
have  been  so  with  me,  for  your  presence  and 
the  sound  of  your  voice  were  very  real  to 
me." 

"How  did  you  find  me  here?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  as  soon  as  I  could  decently  get  away 
from  my  people,  I  asked  for  you.  They  sent 


254  TO  WIN   THE   LOVE   HE   SOUGHT 

to  your  room,  and  could  not  find  you.  Then 
one  of  the  servants  thought  that  she  had  seen 
you  leave  the  house  and  come  this  way.  So  I 
started  off  in  search." 

"It  was  foolish  of  me  to  come  out.  I  could 
not  rest  indoors/' 

"Why?"  eagerly. 

"The  storm  was  so  dreadful." 

"And  so  you  came  out  into  it.  A  bad  rea- 
son. Was  there  no  other  ?" 

"I  was  anxious,  too,  I  think.  I  wanted  to 
see  what  the  sea  looked  like." 

"Why  were  you  anxious ;  what  about  ?" 

"Somebody  was  in  danger." 

"My  darling!" 

His  lips  met  mine  again.  My  strength 
seemed  altogether  gone.  I  made  no  effort  to 
escape. 

"I  didn't  say  who  'somebody'  was,"  I  pro- 
tested weakly. 

He  laughed  gaily. 

"But  I  know." 

"Sure?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"I  may  have  relatives  who  are  sailors." 

"You  may  have,  but  you  haven't." 

I  considered  for  a  moment. 

"It  was  purely  a  matter  of  responsibility,  you 
know.  I  felt  that  I  had  something  to  do  with 


255 

your  going  away.  I  was  .disagreeable  last 
night,  and  you  were  offended.  See?" 

"Not  a  bit." 

"You  are  very  stupid." 

"I  am  not  now ;  I  was  last  night" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  will  answer  you  by  asking  a  question. 
Will  you  promise  to  reply  to  it  ?" 

"Cela  depend.    I  won't  be  rash." 

"Do  you  care  for  me — just  a  little?"  he 
asked,  tenderly  but  hopefully. 

Oh,  horrible!  A  vision  seemed  to  float 
suddenly  before  my  eyes.  The  darkness  faded 
away,  to  be  replaced  by  a  little  white-washed 
chamber  in  a  distant  land.  I  saw  an  old  man 
dying,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  me  full  of  mute 
reproach,  his  trembling  fingers  pointed  at  me 
with  scorn,  and  his  lips  framing  a  feeble  curse. 
Suddenly  his  look  changed,  his  arm  fell,  his 
face  grew  suddenly  bright  and  joyful,  and  the 
curse  changed  into  a  fervent  blessing.  Then 
the  room  widened,  and  the  little  figure  under 
that  spotless  coverlet  faded  away.  It  was  a 
chamber  in  a  palace,  and  I  saw  Lady  St. 
Maurice,  also  on  her  death-bed.  Her  husband 
and  her  son  knelt  by  her  side  with  bared  heads, 
and  the  air  was  laden  and  heavy  with  the  sound 
of  their  sobs.  She  alone  did  not  weep,  and 
her  pale,  spiritualized  face  glowed  like  the  face 


256  TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

of  a  martyred  saint.  And  as  I  watched 
I  seemed  to  hear  one  word  constantly  es- 
caping from  those  who  watched  by  her  side, 
and  caught  up  and  echoed  a  thousand  times 
by  the  sad  wailing  wind  until  it  rang  in  my 
ears  unceasingly — and  the  word  was  "Mur- 
deress !" 

It  passed  away — vanished  in  a  phantom  of 
mist,  like  some  weird  morbid  fancy,  but  the  joy 
of  those  last  few  minutes  was  quenched.  I 
drew  myself  from  his  arms,  and  pressed  my 
hand  to  my  side.  There  was  a  sharp  pain 
there. 

"We  must  go  back  to  the  house,"  I  said.  "I 
have  been  a  little  mad,  I  think,  and  I  am  very 
wet" 

He  looked  at  me,  amazed. 

"Won't  you  answer  my  question  first?"  he 
pleaded.  "Margharita,  make  me  very  happy. 
Be  my  wife." 

His  wife.  Oh,  the  grim  grotesque  agony  of 
it  all.  My  strength  would  never  be  sufficient 
to  carry  me  through  all  this.  My  heart  was 
faint,  and  my  speech  was  low;  yet  it  was  as 
cold  and  resolute  as  I  could  make  it. 

"Never!  never!  I  would  sooner  die  than 
that.  Let  us  go  back  at  once — at  once !" 

He  caught  me  by  the  wrist,  and  forced  me  to 
look  into  his  face.  It  was  unwise  of  him  to 


257 

touch  me  against  my  will,  for  the  fire  flashed 
into  my  eyes,  and  my  anger  gave  me  strength. 

"Margharita,  what  does  this  mean  ?  You  do 
care  for  a  me  a  little,  don't  you  ?" 

"No!" 

I  lied,  God  knows,  and  all  in  vain. 

"Perhaps  not  so  very  much  now,"  he  said, 
with  a  little  sigh,  "but  you  will  some  day.  I 
know  that  you  will.  Be  generous,  Margharita, 
give  me  a  little  hope." 

I  laid  my  hand  upon  his  arm.  How  could 
I  convince  him.  Anger,  lies,  reasoning,  all 
seemed  so  weak  and  ineffective ;  and  he  was  so 
strong — strong  in  his  own  love,  strong  un- 
consciously in  mine. 

"Lord  Lumley,  I  can  only  give  you  one 
answer,  and  that  is — 'No/  Nothing  can 
change  me.  I  would  sooner  throw  myself  from 
these  cliffs  than  become  your  wife." 

He  considered  for  a  moment,  while  I 
watched  him  anxiously. 

"I  have  a  right  to  know  your  reason  for 
that  speech,"  he  said  in  a  low  but  firm  tone. 
"Give  me  your  hands  for  one  moment, 
Margharita — so!  Now,  look  me  in  the  eyes, 
and  tell  me  that  you  do  not  care  for  me !" 

I  was  a  fool  to  try.  I  might  have  known 
that,  after  all  I  had  passed  through  that  day, 
it  was  beyond  my  strength.  I  got  as  far  as 


258          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

the  first  three  words,  and  then  I  burst  into 
tears.  His  whole  face  lit  up  with  joy  at  my 
failure. 

"I  am  satisfied !"  he  said,  drawing  my  hand 
through  his  arm.  "Come !  we  will  go  back  to 
the  house.  I  must  not  have  you  catch  cold !" 

He  spoke  with  an  air  of  fond  proprietorship 
which  made  my  heart  tremble,  but  I  had  no 
more  words  left  with  which  to  fight  my  battle. 
My  strength  was  gone;  I  did  not  even  try  to 
withdraw  my  hand. 

We  walked  away,  and  I  did  my  best  to 
choke  the  hysterical  sobs  which  threatened 
me.  Directly  we  left  the  shelter  of  the  pine 
grove,  speech  became  impossible.  We  had 
to  fight  our  way  along,  step  by  step,  with 
the  wind  and  rain  beating  in  our  faces.  I 
was  thankful  for  it,  for  the  physical  effort 
seemed  to  stimulate  and  calm  me. 

When  at  last  we  reached  the  house  and 
stood  inside  the  hall,  he  turned  to  me  and 
spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"That  walk  was  quite  an  event,  wasn't  it? 
Let  me  feel  how  wet  you  are." 

He  ran  his  fingers  down  my  arm  and  back, 
and  then  rang  the  hall  bell  violently. 

"You  are  wet  through,"  he  said  gravely. 
"And  it  is  my  fault.  Instead  of  bringing 
you  home  at  once,  as  I  ought  to  have  done, 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE   HE   SOUGHT          259 

I  kept  you  out  there  talking.  Run  upstairs 
at  once,  Margharita,  please,  and  change  all 
your  things.  I  will  send  up  hot  water." 

He  had  been  hurrying  me  to  the  stairs  all 
the  time,  and  I  began  slowly  to  ascend  them. 
He  stood  down  in  the  white  stone  hall,  watch- 
ing me  anxiously. 

"You  won't  be  long,  will  you?"  he  said, 
as  I  reached  the  corner.  "I  want  to  talk 
to  you  before  dinner." 

I  answered  him  mechanically,  and  turning 
away,  went  along  the  corridor  to  my  room, 
and  flung  myself  upon  the  bed.  I  had 
scarcely  been  there  five  minutes  when  there 
was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Who  is  there?"  I  asked,  sitting  up  and 
hastily  drying  my  eyes. 

A  servant's  voice  answered,  and  I  recog- 
nized Cecile,  the  Countess's  own  maid. 

"Her  ladyship  has  sent  you  a  cup  of  tea, 
miss,  and  hopes  you  will  be  sure  to  change 
all  your  clothes.  There  is  a  letter  for  you, 
too,  miss." 

I  .bade  the  girl  come  in  and  put  the  tea 
down.  When  she  had  gone,  I  stretched 
out  my  hand,  and  took  up  the  letter  with 
trembling  fingers.  It  was  from  my  uncle, 
and  the  postmark  was  Rome. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

A  LIFE  IN  THE  BALANCE 

I  SUPPOSE  it  is  absurd  to  talk  about  presenti- 
ments, and  yet  I  knew  what  was  in  that  letter. 
As  plainly  as  though  I  saw  it  written  up  in 
characters  of  fire,  I  knew  its  contents  and  my 
doom.  The  climax  of  all  things  was  at  hand. 
The  time  was  approaching  when  I  must  keep 
my  vow,  or  confess  myself  foresworn — an  un- 
worthy daughter  of  the  Marionis.  It  was  a 
bitter  choice,  for  there  was  a  life  in  either 
balance;  the  life  of  this  traitress  of  five-and- 
twenty  years  ago,  or  of  an  old  man  sick  to  the 
heart  with  disappointment;  deceived  by  a 
woman  in  his  youth,  and  a  woman  again  in  his 
old  age. 

I  bathed  my  eyes  and  face,  and,  throwing 
off  my  wet  things,  wrapped  myself  in  a  dress- 
ing robe.  Then  I  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea  and 
drank  it  over  the  fire.  All  the  while  that  letter 
lay  before  me  on  the  tray,  face  upward,  and 
my  eyes  kept  straying  unwillingly  toward  it. 
It  had  a  sort  of  fascination  for  me,  and  in  the 
end  it  conquered.  I  had  meant  to  give  myself 

260 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    261 

a  few  hours'  more  freedom — to  have  put  it 
away  until  bedtime,  but  a  sudden  impulse  came 
to  me,  and  I  yielded.  I  caught  it  up  with  firm 
fingers  and  tore  it  open. 

"PALEZZO  CARLOTTI,  ROME. 

"MARGHARITA, — Beloved.  Success !  suc- 
cess! My  search  is  over,  my  purpose  is 
accomplished.  I  have  found  Paschuli.  En- 
closed in  this  letter  you  will  find  a  smaller 
envelope.  It  contains  the  powder. 

"Can  you  wonder  that  my  hand  is  shaking, 
and  that  there  is  a  mist  before  my  eyes!  I 
am  an  old  man,  and  great  joy  is  hard  to  bear ; 
harder  still  after  a  weary,  wretched  life  such  as 
mine.  You  will  understand,  though — you  will 
be  able  to  decipher  this  faint,  uncertain  hand- 
writing, and  you  will  forgive  me  if  it  tires  you. 
Ay,  you  will  do  that,  Margharita,  I  know ! 

"Let  me  tell  you  how  I  found  him.  It  was 
by  the  purest  accident.  I  turned  aside  into  an 
old  curio  shop  to  buy  some  trifle  for  you  which 
took  my  fancy,  and  it  was  Paschuli  himself  who 
served  me.  Thus  you  see  how  indirectly  even 
your  star  always  shines  over  mine  and  leads 
me  aright.  If  it  had  not  been  for  you  I  should 
never  have  dreamed  of  entering  the  place,  but 
I  thought  of  you  and  your  taste  for  Roman 


262          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

jewelry,  and  behold,  I  found  myself  in  the 
presence  of  the  man  for  whom  I  was  making 
vain  search.  My  Margharita !  my  good  angel ! 
I  have  you  to  thank  even  for  the  successful 
accomplishment  of  my  part  in  that  edict  of  our 
Order  which  you  and  I  are  banded  together  to 
carry  out. 

"At  first,  Paschuli  did  not  recognize  me,  and 
it  was  long  before  I  could  make  him  believe 
that  I  was  indeed  that  most  unfortunate  of 
men,  Leonardo  di  Marioni.  But  when  he  was 
convinced,  he  promised  me  what  I  sought. 
That  same  evening  he  gave  it  to  me. 

"Margharita,  there  is  no  poison  in  the  world 
like  that  which  I  send  you  in  this  letter.  The 
merest  grain  of  it  is  sufficient,  in  wine  or  water, 
or  food  of  any  sort.  There  is  no  art  of  medi- 
cine which  could  detect  it — no  means  by  which 
the  death,  which  will  surely  follow,  can  be 
averted;  so  you  run  no  risk,  my  child!  Bide 
your  time,  and  then — then! 

"Margharita,  I  am  coming  to  you.  Nay, 
do  not  be  alarmed,  I  run  no  risk.  I  shall 
come  disguised,  and  no  one  will  know  me,  but 
I  must  see  something  of  the  end  with  my  own 
eyes,  or  half  its  sweetness  would  be  untasted. 
I  would  see  her  face  and  die!  I  would  trace, 
day  by  day,  the  workings  of  the  poison ;  and  in 
the  last  moments  of  her  agony  I  would  reveal 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT    263 

myself,  and  would  point  to  my  withered  frame 
and  the  hand  of  death  upon  my  forehead,  and 
cry  out  to  her  that  the  Order  of  the  White  Hya- 
cinth had  kept  its  vow.  I  would  have  her  eyes 
meet  mine  as  the  mists  of  death  closed  in  upon 
her.  I  would  have  her  know  that  the  oath  of 
a  Marioni,  in  friendship  or  in  hate,  in  protec- 
tion or  in  vengeance,  is  one  with  his  honor. 
This  may  not  be,  Margharita !  I  cannot  see  all 
this !  I  cannot  even  stand  by  her  bedside  for  a 
moment  and  show  her  my  face,  that  she  might 
know  whose  hand  it  is  which  has  stricken  her 
down.  Yet,  I  must  be  near !  Fear  not  but 
that  I  shall  manage  it  safely!  I  would  not 
bring  danger  or  the  shadow  of  danger  upon 
you,  my  beloved. 

"I  leave  Rome  to-night,  and  I  leave  it  with 
joy.  You  cannot  imagine  how  inexpressibly 
sad  it  has  been  for  me  to  find  myself  in  the 
place  where  the  greater  part  of  my  youth — my 
too  ambitious  youth  was  spent.  All  is  changed 
and  strange  to  me.  There  are  new  streets 
and  many  innovations  which  puzzle  me;  and 
although  my  friends  are  kind,  twenty-five 
years  have  crushed  our  sympathies.  To  them 
I  am  like  a  sad  figure  from  a  bygone  world, 
a  Banquo  at  the  feast,  something  to  pity  a 
little — no  more.  I  am  nothing  to  anybody 
beyond  that.  I  am  a  wearisome  old  man, 


264          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

whose  mind  is  a  blank,  and  who  only  cumbers 
the  way.  Ah,  well,  it  is  not  for  long.  The 
day  of  my  desire  is  at  hand,  and  God  has  given 
me  you,  Margharita,  to  accomplish  it,  and  to 
close  my  eyes  in  peace.  Bless  you,  my  dear, 
dear  child !  You  have  sweetened  the  end  of  a 
marred  and  wretched  life !  Yours  has  been  an 
angel's  task,  and  you  will  have  an  angel's 
reward. 

"We  shall  meet  before  long,  but  of  the  man- 
ner of  our  meeting  I  cannot  tell  you  yet.  Till 
then  adieu ! — Yours  in  hope, 

"LEONARDO  DI  MARIONI. 

"P.  S. — I  forgot  to  say  that  the  whole  of  the 
poison,  or  even  half  a  teaspoonful,  would  pro- 
duce sudden  and  abrupt  death.  Just  a  pinch, 
administered  twice,  perhaps,  in  order  to  be 
quite  secure,  would  be  sufficient." 

Enclosed  in  the  letter  was  the  oblong  en- 
velope he  spoke  of,  which  I  carefully  opened. 
It  contained  only  a  small  quantity  of  pale  pink 
powder,  which  emitted  a  faint  pungent  odor. 
I  locked  it  up  in  my  desk,  and  destroyed  the 
letter. 

All  my  strength  had  returned.  I  felt  myself 
free  from  the  madness  of  this  overmastering 
love.  Another  passion  for  the  moment  had 


TO   WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  265 

taken  its  place.  The  vision  of  that  old  man, 
wandering  about  the  streets  of  Rome,  with  a 
sad,  weary  heart  and  tottering  limbs  out  of 
touch  with  the  times,  a  figure  for  a  half-con- 
temptuous pity;  that  is  the  picture  which  I 
saw  steadily  before  me  to  nerve  my  heart  and 
purpose,  and  well  it  succeeded. 

The  second  bell  roused  me  from  my 
thoughts.  I  hastily  rose  from  my  chair,  and 
attired  myself  in  the  plainest  gown  which  I 
possessed.  I  unlocked  my  desk,  and  thrust  the 
little  packet  into  my  pocket.  Then,  without 
jewelry  or  flowers,  and  with  my  hair  plainly 
coiled  upon  my  head,  I  went  downstairs. 

They  had  commenced  dinner  when  I  arrived, 
and  Lord  Lumley  glanced  reproachfully  at  me 
as  I  took  my  seat.  From  the  sudden  silence 
directly  I  entered,  I  imagined  they  had  been 
talking  of  me,  and  I  made  my  excuses  with  a 
momentary  nervousness.  There  was  some- 
thing unusual  in  the  air.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
Lady  St.  Maurice  was  regarding  me  with  a 
new  and  kindly  interest.  She  said  nothing,  as 
I  had  dreaded  she  would,  of  my  long  absence 
from  the  house,  and  Lord  St.  Maurice,  with  a 
courtesy  unusual  even  for  him,  rose  when  I 
entered,  and  motioning  the  butler  away,  him- 
self held  my  chair.  What  did  it  all  mean  ?  At 
another  time  I  might  have  wondered  more,  but 


266  TO   WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

just  then  there  were  other  thoughts  in  my 
mind.  Should  I  have  an  opportunity  to  com- 
mit my  crime  that  night?  I  feared  not. 

I  gave  no  one  any  chance  for  sentimental 
conversation  during  dinner  time,  for  I  talked 
more  than  usual,  and  in  a  lighter  vein.  I 
wanted  nothing  said  which  could  bring  back  to 
my  memory  that  wild  scene  on  the  cliffs,  or 
the  hours  of  agony  which  I  had  been  through. 
All  such  things  were  of  the  past.  I  desired  to 
be  able  to  look  back  upon  them  as  upon  some 
strange  night-dream — fair  enough  of  itself,  but 
gone  with  the  first  breath  of  morning.  To  my 
relief,  the  others,  too,  avoided  the  subject. 
There  was  nothing  said  about  Lord  Lumley's 
escape  which  even  bordered  upon  the  pathetic. 

Dinner,  which  seemed  to  me  to  last  longer 
than  usual,  came  to  an  end  at  last.  I  had 
planned  to  make  some  excuse  to  the  Countess, 
and  leave  the  drawing-room  before  Lord  Lum- 
ley  could  follow,  but,  as  I  had  half  expected 
that  he  might,  Lord  Lumley  accompanied  us 
there  without  waiting  to  smoke.  To  my  sur- 
prise, Lady  St.  Maurice,  before  I  could  frame 
an  excuse  to  her  for  my  own  departure,  left  us 
alone.  Lord  Lumley  held  the  door  open  for 
her,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  meaning  glance 
passed  between  them.  It  was  beyond  my 
understanding.  I  could  only  see  that  my  plans 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE   HE   SOUGHT  267 

were  frustrated,  and  that  I  must  prepare  for 
another  struggle. 

He  shut  the  door  carefully,  and  then  came 
back  and  stood  over  me.  I  looked  at  him 
calmly.  How  could  he  read  the  agony  in  my 
heart. 

"I  am  waiting  for  my  answer,  Margharita !" 
he  said  simply. 

"You  have  had  the  only  answer  which  I  can 
ever  give  you,  Lord  Lumley!  I  answered — 
'No!'" 

Then  he  did  a  thing  which  sounds  very  ab- 
surd, but  which  did  not  indeed  seem  so.  He 
sank  on  one  knee  and  took  possession  of  my 
hand.  I  was  on  a  low  chair,  and  his  face  now 
was  on  a  level  with  mine. 

"Margharita,  my  love,"  he  whispered, 
"  'no'  is  an  answer  which  I  shall  never  take. 
Yesterday  I  went  away  and  left  you,  to-day 
I  am  wiser.  Nothing  can  undo  those  few 
minutes  on  the  cliffs,  dearest.  You  love  me! 
Ah!  you  cannot  deny  it!  Have  I  not  read  it 
in  your  face,  and  in  your  eyes?  Take  back 
your  'no/  Margharita.  By  the  memory  of 
those  few  minutes,  you  are  mine  forever! 
You  have  not  the  power  or  the  right  to  deny 
yourself  to  me.  You  are  mine!  You  belong 
to  me !" 

I  shrank  back.     I  began  to  be  frightened  at 


268  TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

his  earnestness — at  the  note  of  triumph  in  his 
voice.  How  strong  and  masterful  he  was. 
Should  I  be  able  to  hold  out  against  him? 
Only  my  will  and  the  memory  of  a  wasted  life 
against  my  heart  and  such  pleading  as  this.  It 
was  a  hard,  unequal  battle. 

"Margharita,  I  love  you  all  the  more  that 
you  are  not  lightly  won !"  he  continued,  draw- 
ing me  closer  to  him — almost  into  his  arms. 
"Listen !  I  believe  that  I  have  some  idea  as  to 
the  reason  of  your  answer.  You  think,  per- 
haps, that  my  people  might  not  be  willing. 
You  are  proud — too  proud.  Tell  me,  is  this 
not  so?" 

"A  governess  is  no  fitting  wife  for  you. 
You  should  choose  one  from  among  the 
noble  women  of  your  country.  I " 

He  interrupted  me.  If  I  had  not  drawn 
back  quickly  he  would  have  stopped  my  lips 
with  a  kiss. 

"No  one  in  this  world  could  be  as  fit  as  you, 
for  it  is  you,  and  you  only,  whom  I  love.  But 
listen !  I  have  spoken  to  my  mother.  I  have 
told  her." 

"You  have  told  her  what  ?"  I  cried, 

"That  I  love  you.  That  I  have  asked  you 
to  be  my  wife." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"What   a   true   woman   and   good   mother 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  269 

should  say;  that  if  you  were  indeed  my  choice, 
then  she  was  ready  to  welcome  you  as  her 
daughter,  and  my  wife/' 

"You  cannot  mean  it !"  I  cried.  "She  knows 
nothing  of  me,  and  I  am  penniless." 

"She  knows  that  I  love  you,  and  that  would 
be  sufficient,  dearest.  But,  as  it  happens,  she 
knew  more  about  you  than  I  did.  From  her 
I  learned,  for  the  first  time,  that  your  mother 
came  from  a  family  which  was  great  and  noble 
before  ours  was  ever  founded.  She  told  me  a 
sad  story  of  your  uncle,  Margharita,  which 
you,  too,  doubtless  know  of,  and  she  seemed 
glad  to  think  that  our  marriage  would  be,  in  a 
certain  sense,  an  act  of  poetic  justice.  She 
told  me,  too,  Margharita,  that  if  your  uncle 
died  unmarried,  you  could,  if  you  chose,  take 
his  name  and  call  yourself  the  Countess  di 
Marioni.  Why,  sweetheart,  I  am  not  sure  that 
I  ought  to  aspire  to  the  hand  of  so  great  a 
lady." 

"Your  mother,  the  Countess  of  St.  Maurice, 
told  you  all  this?  She  desires  our  marriage? 
She  knows  what  you  are  asking  me?"  I  re- 
peated breathlessly. 

"Most  certainly !  Shall  I  call  her  ?  She  will 
tell  you  so  herself." 

"Do  not  speak  to  me  for  a  moment,  please." 

I  was  an  idiot,  but  I  could  not  help  it.     I 


270  TO   WIN   THE  LOVE   HE   SOUGHT 

buried  my  head  in  the  sofa  cushion,  and  sobbed. 
Everything  seemed  fighting  against  me,  to 
make  my  purpose  more  difficult. 

I  think  that  tears  have  a  softening  effect. 
I  had  steeled  my  heart  against  my  lover,  and 
yet  he  conquered.  I  felt  his  strong  arms 
around  me,  and  his  lips  were  pressed  against 
my  wet  cheeks.  Oh!  for  strength  to  thrust 
him  from  me — to  deny  my  love,  but  I  could  not. 

Why  should  I  try  to  recall  his  words  ?  Nay ! 
if  I  could,  I  would  not  set  them  down  here! 
I  felt  every  fiber  of  my  nature  glowing  with 
delight  as  I  listened;  every  chord  seemed 
quivering  with  heart-stirring  music.  I  had 
given  up  all  idea  of  resistance.  A  strange 
drowsy  peace  had  stolen  in  upon  me.  One  of 
his  arms  was  around  my  waist,  and  my  hand 
was  imprisoned  in  his.  So  we  sat,  and  the 
moments  became  golden. 

Interruption  came  at  last.  The  door  opened, 
and  Lady  St.  Maurice  entered.  My  lover  rose 
at  once,  still  holding  my  hand. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "Margharita  has  made 
me  very  happy.  Will  you  speak  to  her?" 

She  came  to  us,  and  bent  over  me,  her  face 
looking  very  soft  and  sweet  in  the  shaded  light. 
In  another  moment  she  would  have  kissed  me. 
I  sprang  to  my  feet,  pale  with  horror. 

"No,  no,  it  cannot  be!"  I  cried.     "I  am  not 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  271 

fit  to  be  his  wife — to  be  anybody's  wife !  Lady 
St.  Maurice,  will  you  not  tell  him  so  for  me? 
Let  me  go  away !" 

She  looked  surprised  at  my  agitation,  but 
she  little  guessed  its  cause.  How  was  she  to 
know  anything  of  that  little  packet  which 
seemed  to  be  burning  a  hole  in  my  heart? 

"No!  I  will  not  tell  him  that!"  she  said,  smil- 
ing. "He  loves  you,  and  I  believe  that  you 
are  worthy  of  his  love.  That  is  quite  suffi- 
cient. I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  for  a  daugh- 
ter, Margharita." 

Lord  Lumley  thanked  her  with  a  look,  and 
took  her  hand.  They  stood  together  on  the 
hearthrug,  and  I  was  on  the  other  side  facing 
the  window.  Suddenly  my  heart  gave  a  great 
leap,  and  the  color  died  out  of  my  face. 
Pressed  against  the  dark  pane  I  could  see  a 
pale,  white  face  watching  us.  It  was  the  face 
of  my  uncle,  Count  di  Marioni. 

I  stood  swaying  backward  and  forward  for 
a  moment,  sick  and  dizzy  with  the  horror  of  it. 
My  eyes  grew  dim,  and  a  mist  seemed  to  fill 
the  room.  Then  I  felt  myself  sink  back  into 
my  lover's  arms,  and  memory  became  a  blank. 
I  had  fainted. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 
ONE  DAY'S  RESPITE 

THE  sun  has  risen  upon  the  last  day  which  I 
shall  spend  on  earth ;  and  I  sit  down  calmly  to 
write  all  that  happened  to  me  yesterday,  and 
my  reason  for  the  step  which  I  am  about  to 
take. 

It  is  a  fair  still  morning,  and  the  birds  are 
singing  gaily  in  the  grove.  My  window  is 
open,  and  the  early  freshness  of  the  autumnal 
air  is  filling  the  room.  For  hours  I  have  been 
on  my  bed  there,  hot  and  restless,  praying  for 
the  dawn,  that  I  might  carry  out  my  purpose; 
and  as  soon  as  the  first  faint  gleam  of  light 
in  the  east  broke  through  the  dark  night 
clouds,  I  arose  and  bathed  my  eyes  and  sat 
down  here  to  wait.  I  have  watched  the  sun 
rise  up  from  the  ocean,  slowly  gathering 
strength  until  its  first  quivering  beams  glanced 
across  the  dull  gray  sea,  and  even  penetrated 
into  my  chamber.  And  with  the  dawn  has 
come  peace.  I  sit  here  calm  and  prepared  for 
the  trial  to  come. 

It  was  the  evening  before  yesterday  when  I 
272 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          273 

saw  my  uncle's  face  pressed  against  the  window 
pane,  and  fainted  with  the  shock.  Early  on 
the  following  morning  a  note  from  him  was 
brought  up  to  me,  having  been  left  by  a  mes- 
senger from  the  village.  Here  it  is : — 

"My  BELOVED  MARGHARITA, — Many  a  time 
have  I  reproached  myself  for  my  imprudence 
last  night,  and  the  effects  which  I  fear  it  had 
upon  you.  It  was  thoughtless  and  rash  of  me 
to  come  near  the  house  at  all;  but,  indeed,  I 
meant  only  to  watch  from  a  safe  distance ;  only, 
as  I  crouched  behind  a  shrub  upon  the  lawn, 
I  saw  her  face,  and  the  sight  drew  me  nearer 
against  my  better  judgment.  I  met  your  eyes, 
and  I  knew  that  you  were  overcome  with 
fright;  but  I  feared  to  linger  lest  they  might 
ask  what  it  was  that  alarmed  you,  and  seek 
for  me.  And  although  I  fancy  that  I  am 
altered  past  recognition,  yet  I  would  run  no 
risks. 

"I,  too,  had  a  great  surprise,  Margharita. 
You  will  not  wonder  what  I  mean  by  that  when 
I  tell  .you  that  in  the  light  which  streamed 
from  the  uncurtained  window  everything  in  the 
room  was  distinctly  visible  to  me.  Was  I 
dreaming,  child,  or  were  you  indeed  assenting 
to  the  embrace  of  the  man  whose  arms  were 
surely  around  you  ?  Him,  I  could  not  see,  for 


274  TO  WIN   THE  LOVE   HE   SOUGHT 

his  back  was  turned  to  the  window;  but  will 
you  laugh  at  me,  I  wonder,  if  I  tell  you  that  I 
felt  strangely  jealous  of  him.  I  am  a  foolish 
old  man,  Margharita,  but  all  the  love  of  my 
heart  is  yours,  and  I  had  begun  almost  to  look 
upon  you — in  my  thoughts — as  my  own  child. 
I  cannot  bear  the  thought  of  giving  you  up  to 
any  one.  You  will  not  think  me  very,  very 
selfish.  I  have  only  a  few  more  months  to  live, 
and  I  know  that  you  will  not  grudge  that  much 
out  of  your  future,  that  you  will  stay  by  me  to 
the  end.  Afterwards,  I  have  no  wish  save  for 
your  happiness;  and  although  I  must  confess 
that  I  had  hoped  you  might  have  married  one 
of  the  sons  of  our  own  country,  still  it  is  you 
who  must  choose,  and  I  owe  you,  or  shall  owe 
you  soon,  too  great  a  debt  to  press  upon  you 
any  desire  of  mine  which  is  not  at  one  with 
your  wishes.  But  tell  me  this — Is  he  an  Eng- 
lishman ?  Alas !  I  fear  so.  Send  me  a  word 
by  the  bearer,  and  tell  me ;  tell  me,  too,  of  what 
family  he  is,  and  whether  he  is  noble.  But  of 
that  I  feel  already  assured,  if  he  be  indeed  the 
man  to  whom  your  love  is  given. 

"You  must  surely  have  sustained  a  shock  at 
my  sudden  and  rash  appearance.  Doubtless 
you  wonder  at  seeing  me  here  at  all.  I  could 
not  keep  away.  I  must  have  news  day  by  day, 
almost  hour  by  hour.  It  is  all  that  keeps  me 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  275 

alive.  I  must  be  near  to  feel  that  I  am  breath- 
ing the  same  air  as  the  woman  on  whom  a 
long-delayed  vengeance  is  about  to  fall. 

"I  have  taken  a  furnished  cottage  on  the 
outskirts  of  this  village,  and  a  little  more  than 
a  mile  from  Mallory  Grange.  But  do  not 
come  to  me.  Dearly  as  I  would  love  to  have 
you  talk  to  me,  and  hear  from  your  own  lips 
that  all  goes  well,  yet  at  present  it  were  better 
not.  I  will  devise  some  means  of  communica- 
tion, and  let  you  know  of  it  shortly.  I  am 
living  here  as  Mr.  Angus. — Yours  ever, 

"L.  M." 

I  folded  up  this  letter  with  a  shudder,  and 
sitting  down  dashed  off  my  reply.  It  is 
here : — 

"Mv  DEAR  UNCLE, — I  am  a  culprit — a  mis- 
erable, pleading  culprit.  It  is  true  that  I  love 
an  Englishman — the  man  who  was  standing 
by  my  side  last  night;  and  it  is  true  that  he 
has  asked  me  to  marry  him.  But  I  have  not 
told  him  so,  and  I  have  not  promised  to  marry 
him.  That  is  not  all  of  my  confession.  Not 
only  is  he  an  Englishman,  but  his  name  is  Lord 
Lumley  St.  Maurice,  and  he  is — her  son. 

"Now  you  know  the  terrible  trouble  I  am  in. 
Last  night  he  was  telling  me  of  his  love,  and 


276          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

assuring  me  of  his  mother's  sanction  and  ap- 
proval, when  your  face  appeared  at  the  win- 
dow. Can  you  wonder  at  my  start,  and  that  I 
fainted  ?  Can  you  wonder  that  I  sit  here,  after 
a  sleepless  night,  with  eyes  that  are  dim  and  a 
heart  that  has  become  a  stone  ?  I  dread  to  stir 
from  the  room.  My  position  is  horrible.  I 
have  tried  my  utmost  to  avoid  him,  to  treat  him 
with  disdain,  to  send  him  away  from  me.  I 
have  steeled  my  heart  and  clothed  my  face 
with  frowns — in  vain !  The  bald  fact  remains 
that  I  love  him.  Do  you  despise  me,  uncle? 
Sometimes  I  feel  that  I  deserve  it;  but  I  have 
suffered,  I  am  suffering  now.  I  am  punished. 
Do  not  add  your  anger  to  my  load ! 

"Immediately  you  get  this,  sit  down  and 
write  to  me.  Write  to  me  just  what  is  in  your 
heart.  Your  words  I  shall  set  before  me  as 
my  law.  Do  not  delay,  and,  if  you  blame,  do 
not  fail  to  pity  me. — Yours  ever  unchanged, 

"MARGHARITA." 

I  sent  this  letter  off  with  a  certain  sense  of 
relief,  and  then,  finding  by  my  watch  that  it 
was  late,  finished  dressing  hastily,  and  went 
down  into  the  schoolroom.  Instead  of  my 
pupil,  Lord  Lumley  was  there  lounging  in  my 
low  basket-chair,  yawning  over  a  German 
grammar.  He  sprang  up  as  I  entered,  and 


TO   WIN   THE  LOVE   HE   SOUGHT  277 

throwing  the  book  into  a  corner  of  the  room, 
advanced  toward  me  with  outstretched  hands. 

"Margharita,  you  are  better,  dear?  I  have 
been  waiting  here  more  than  an  hour  for 
you." 

Then,  before  I  could  prevent  him,  he  had 
kissed  me.  Let  me  be  honest,  though,  here, 
at  any  rate.  Did  I  really  try  to  prevent  him? 
I  think  not. 

"Where  is  Grade?"  I  asked,  looking  round. 
"And  what  have  you  done  to  my  Ottos?" 

"Grade  has  gone  out  with  the  nurse,"  he 
answered,  laughing,  "and  as  for  that  wretched 
volume,  well,  I've  got  a  good  mind  to  send  the 
rest  after  it.  You've  a  nasty  brain-worrying 
lot  of  lesson  books  here.  I've  been  looking 
through  them." 

"One  cannot  teach  without  them.  Ele- 
mentary books  always  look  tiresome,  but  they 
are  indispensable." 

"Not  for  you  any  longer,  I'm  glad  to  say," 
he  remarked. 

"Why  not?" 

He  looked  at  me,  surprised. 

"Surely  you  don't  expect  to  go  on  teaching 
that  child  ?"  he  asked.  "You  are  a  visitor  here 
now,  and  I  am  responsible  for  your  entertain- 
ment. To  commence  with,  I  have  invited  my- 
self to  breakfast  with  you.  The  tray  is  here, 


278  TO   WIN   THE  LOVE 'HE   SOUGHT 

as  you  perceive,  and  the  kettle  is  boiling. 
Kindly  make  the  tea." 

I  did  as  I  was  bid,  with  a  meekness  which 
astonished  myself,  and  he  sat  opposite  to  me. 
The  servant  brought  in  the  remainder  of  the 
things,  and  closed  the  door.  Gracie  was  not 
coming. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  the  first  item  in  my 
programme  ?"  he  asked,  taking  my  hand  for  a 
moment  between  his.  "A  tete-a-tete  break- 
fast was  not  a  bad  idea,  was  it  ?" 

"Does  Lady  St.  Maurice  know?"  I  asked, 
suddenly  conscious  of  the  utter  impropriety  of 
what  we  were  doing. 

He  laughed  reassuringly. 

"Of  course  she  does,  sweetheart.  In  fact, 
she  as  good  as  suggested  it.  She  thinks  you 
feel  a  little  strange  about  it  all,  and  that  a  long, 
quiet  day  alone  with  me  would  help  you  to 
realize  matters.  Accordingly,  I  am  having  a 
luncheon  basket  packed,  and  after  breakfast 
we  are  going  for  a  sail,  just  you  and  I.  You 
see  the  sea  is  as  calm  as  a  duck  pond  this 
morning.  Shall  you  like  it,  do  you  think?" 

Like  it!  Oh!  how  long  was  this  mockery 
to  go  on!  How  long  before  I  could  find 
strength  to  tell  him  the  truth — that  this  thing 
could  never  be!  I  tried  to  tell  him  then,  but 
the  words  died  away  upon  my  lips.  I  would 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  279 

give  myself  one  more  day.  After  that  there 
must  be  action  of  some  sort  or  other.  My 
uncle's  reply  would  have  come,  and  I  should 
know  exactly  what  lay  before  me. 

"I  should  like  it,  yes,"  I  answered,  looking 
into  my  lover's  handsome,  glowing  face.  "You 
are  sure  that  your  mother  will  not  mind — that 
she  approves?" 

"Quite,"  he  answered  confidently.  "We 
talked  it  over  together  for  some  time.  To- 
night I  am  going  to  speak  to  my  father.  He 
has  an  inkling  of  it  already,  but  he  will  expect 
me  to  tell  him.  Dearest,  there  is  nothing  to  be 
frightened  about.  Why  should  you  tremble 
so?  You  are  not  well?" 

"I  shall  be  better  out  of  doors,"  I  answered 
faintly.  "I  will  get  my  hat,  and  we  will  start." 

He  rose  up  at  once,  and  opened  the  door 
for  me. 

"Do.  There  must  be  a  little  pink  coloring 
in  those  cheeks  before  we  get  back,"  he  said 
fondly. 

"Let  us  meet  at  the  boat-house  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  Shall  you  be  ready  by  then  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered.     "I  will  be  there." 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THERE    IS    DEATH    BEFORE    US 

I  DID  not  give  myself  time  to  think.  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  with  a  sort  of  desperate  de- 
termination that  this  day  should  be  my  very 
own,  my  own  to  spend  in  paradise,  without 
scruples  or  after  thought.  In  a  few  minutes 
my  black  dress  was  changed  for  a  navy  blue 
one  and  a  straw  hat,  and  I  was  hurrying  down 
to  the  beach.  Our  boat,  a  dainty  little  skiff, 
only  large  enough  for  two,  was  ready  when  I 
got  there,  and  Lord  Lumley  was  standing  up 
unfurling  the  sail. 

I  settled  myself  down  comfortably  in  the 
cushioned  seat,  and  we  were  off  almost  at  once, 
gliding  over  the  smooth  surface  of  the  water 
with  a  scarcely  perceptible  motion.  We  were 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  shore  when 
we  met  Lord  Lumley's  yacht,  rounding  the 
point  on  her  way  back  from  Yarmouth.  Lord 
Lumley  stood  up  in  the  bows  and  hailed  her. 

"All  well,  Dyson?"  he  cried,  as  she  swept 
past. 

"All  well,  my  Lord !"  was  the  prompt  reply. 
280 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  281 

"Is  the  breeze  stiffening,  do  you  think?  It's 
calm  enough  here,  but  I  see  the  white  horses 
are  showing  their  heads  outside  the  bay." 

"Ay !  ay !  my  Lord,  it's  blowing  hard  round 
the  headland.  You'll  have  to  keep  her  well 
away.  Shall  we  take  you  up  ?" 

Lord  Lumley  shook  his  head. 

"You  would  not  prefer  the  yacht?"  he  asked, 
turning  to  me. 

"I  like  this  best,"  I  answered.  "It  is  more 
exciting." 

"We'll  stick  to  the  skiff,  Dyson,"  Lord 
Lumley  called  out. 

The  man  looked  doubtful ;  but  while  he  hesi- 
tated, we  shot  far  ahead,  so  that  his  voice  only 
reached  us  faintly. 

"There's  a  heavy  sea  running,  my  Lord,  and 
it'll  blow  great  guns  before  night." 

"Are  you  nervous,  Margharita?"  he  asked 
tenderly. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  I  answered,  carelessly 
wiping  the  spray  from  my  face.  "I  like  it,  and 
hope  it  will  be  rougher." 

"Can't  say  that  I  do,"  he  laughed.  "What 
a  plucky  girl  you  are.  Now  that  we're  in  a 
quieter  sea,  I  think  that  I  may  venture  to  come 
and  talk  to  you." 

So  he  came  and  sat  by  my  side.  It  is  not 
my  purpose  to  set  down  all  that  passed  between 


282  TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

us  that  day.  There  are  pages  in  our  lives 
which  we  never  willingly  open ;  which  have  for 
us  a  peculiar  sacredness,  and  a  sweetness 
which  never  altogether  fades  away.  There 
came  a  sort  of  abandon  upon  me,  the  forerun- 
ner of  a  fit  of  nervous  desperation  which  well- 
nigh  sent  us  both,  hand  in  hand,  into  another 
world — closed  the  gates  of  my  memory  upon 
the  past,  and  withdrew  my  shuddering 
thoughts  from  the  future,  to  steep  them  in  the 
delight  of  the  present.  My  lover  sat  by  my 
side,  and  his  words  were  filling  my  heart  with 
music.  The  strong  sea  breeze  blew  in  our 
faces,  and  the  salt  spray  leaped  like  glittering 
silver  into  the  sunlight.  Over  our  heads  the 
sea-gulls  screamed,  and  the  coast  line  grew 
faint  in  the  distance.  So  we  sailed  on,  hand  in 
hand,  heart  whispering  to  heart  in  the  golden 
silence,  till  the  sun  lay  low  in  the  west,  and  our 
tiny  craft  pitched  and  tossed  in  the  trough  of 
the  ocean  waves. 

Then  my  lover  suddenly  became  conscious  of 
time  and  place,  and  he  sprang  up  bewildered. 

"A  miracle!"  he  cried.  "The  sun  is  low, 
and  it  cannot  yet  be  afternoon." 

"Flatterer,"  I  laughed,  showing  him  my 
watch.  "It  is  past  five  o'clock." 

He  looked  round  as  he  gathered  in  the  sail, 
and  a  shade  of  anxiety  crept  into  his  face. 


TO   WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  283 

Especially  he  looked  with  bewildered  eyes  at 
the  faint  blue  line  where  land  lay. 

"What  an  idiot  I  have  been,"  he  said,  knit- 
ting his  brows.  "Port,  Margharita !  The  left 
string!  That's  right!  Now,  sit  firm,  and 
when  we  go  down,  lean  to  the  other  side.  You 
mustn't  mind  if  you  get  a  little  wet.  We  are 
running  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind,  and  it  will  be 
roughish." 

It  was  deliciously  exhilarating.  The  breeze, 
without  our  noticing  it,  had  been  gradually 
freshening,  and  now  it  was  almost  a  gale.  The 
sky  above  was  mackerel-hued  and  wind-swept. 
The  sea  seemed  to  be  getting  rougher  every 
minute.  Lord  Lumley  had  to  pass  his  arm 
round  the  frail  mast  which  creaked  and  bent 
with  the  straining  of  the  sail.  Once  we  heeled 
right  over,  and  were  within  an  ace  of  being 
capsized.  I  only  laughed,  and  the  color  came 
into  my  cheeks.  Death  would  be  a  sweet  and 
welcome  thing,  I  thought — death  here  on  the 
ocean,  with  my  lover's  arms  around  me.  So  I 
had  no  fear,  and  Lord  Lumley  found  time  to 
glance  at  me  admiringly. 

"You're  the  pluckiest  woman  I  ever  knew  in 
all  my  life !"  he  exclaimed  lightly.  "Gad !  that 
was  a  shave !  It's  no  use,  dear,  we  must  tack. 
This  is  too  good  to  last." 

Round  we  swept,  first  one  way  then  another, 


284  TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

but  we  made  no  headway.  In  an  hour's  time 
we  were  no  nearer  land,  and  in  the  gathering 
twilight  the  coast  line  was  dim  and  blurred. 
Here  and  there  we  could  see  a  few  lights 
burning  from  the  villages  along  the  shore, 
and  away  northward  the  revolving  light 
from  Gorton  headland  shone  out  like  a 
beacon. 

"What  will  become  of  us?"  I  asked  softly, 
for  Lord  Lumley  had  ceased  his  exertions  for 
a  moment  with  a  little  gesture  of  despair.  His 
face  was  very  pale,  but  it  might  have  been 
from  fatigue. 

"Nothing  very  serious.  Fortunately  the 
sail  is  a  new  one,  and  very  strong.  I  think 
it  will  hold,  and  while  it  does,  I  can  keep  her 
in  position.  We  shall  be  tacking  about  most 
of  the  night,  though,  I  am  afraid.  It  is  such  a 
provoking  shifty  wind.  I  can't  depend  upon  it 
for  a  moment." 

"And  supposing  the  sail  went?" 

"We  have  the  oars.  It  would  be  uncom- 
monly hard  work,  rowing,  but  it  would  keep  us 
afloat.  It  was  just  a  chance  that  I  put  them 
in — a  lucky  one  as  it  happens." 

"Supposing  you  had  forgotten  them,  and 
that  we  had  no  oars  ?" 

Lord  Lumley  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  add  to  the  horrors,"  he  said,  smiling. 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          285 

"I'd  rather  not  suppose  anything  of  the  kind. 
It's  bad  enough  as  it  is." 

"There  would  be  danger,  then?"  f 

"Yes."  / 

"In  what  way?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know?" 

"Yes,  please." 

"Well,  we  should  drift  out  to  sea,  and  the 
first  heavy  wave  that  caught  us  broadside 
would  probably  swamp  us.  The  great  thing 
is,  you  see,  to  keep  our  head  to  the  waves. 
Are  you  cold,  love  ?" 

I  shook  my  head.     I  had  no  thought  of  it. 

"Frightened?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.     Do  I  look  it?" 

"That  you  don't,"  he  answered,  smiling. 
"You  are  brave,  dearest.  I  shall  never  for- 
give myself  for  being  so  careless,  though." 

I  think  that  it  was  then  that  the  madness 
first  came  to  me.  I  held  my  hands  up  to  my 
head,  and  strove  to  fight  against  that  frantic 
impulse.  The  air  seemed  full  of  voices  whis- 
pering to  me  to  end  by  one  swift  stroke  this 
hideous  dilemma  into  which  I  had  drifted  of 
my  own  foolish  will.  It  was  so  simple;  so 
easy  a  manner  of  escape.  And  she,  too,  would 
be  punished.  In  a  manner,  my  oath  would 
have  been  accomplished.  What  vengeance 


286          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

could  be  sweeter  to  the  heart  of  that  desolate 
old  man  than  the  death  of  her  son — her  only 
son?  It  could  be  done  so  easily,  so  secretly. 
And  as  for  me,  should  I  not  die  in  his  arms 
with  his  dear  face  pressed  close  to  mine,  his 
kisses  upon  my  cold  lips,  and  his  voice  the  last 
to  fall  upon  my  ears?  What  was  life  to  me,  a 
pledged  murderess?  Would  not  such  a  death 
be  a  thousand  times  better?  The  wind  rush- 
ing across  the  waters  seemed  to  bring  mocking 
whispers  to  my  ears.  I  seemed  to  read  it  in 
the  silent  stars,  and  in  the  voices  of  the  night. 
Death,  painless  and  sudden.  Death,  in  my 
lover's  arms.  My  heart  yearned  for  it. 

In  the  darkness  I  stretched  down  my  hand, 
and  felt  for  the  oars.  My  lover's  back  was 
turned  to  me,  for  he  was  on  his  knees  in  the 
bows,  gazing  ahead  with  strained  eyesight. 
One  oar  I  raised  and  balanced  on  the  side  of 
the  boat.  A  quick  push,  and  it  was  gone. 
The  dull  splash  in  the  water  was  lost  in  the 
rushing  of  the  wind  and  the  creaking  of  the 
ropes.  I  watched  it  drift  away  from  us  with 
anxious  eyes.  It  was  gone,  irrevocably  gone. 

There  was  only  the  sail  now.  I  had  not 
meant  to  touch  that;  to  leave  so  much  to 
chance,  but  the  desire  for  death  had  grown. 
I  was  no  longer  mistress  of  myself.  A  small 
pocket-knife  was  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the 


TO  .WIN   THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          287 

boat,  and  I  stooped  down  cautiously  and  picked 
it  up.  Just  as  my  fingers  closed  upon  it,  Lord 
Lumley  looked  round.  My  eyes  fell  before 
his,  and  I  trembled,  thankful  for  the  darkness. 

"Frightened  yet,  dearest?"  he  asked  ten- 
derly. 

I  laughed.  There  was  no  fear  in  my  heart. 
If  only  he  had  known. 

"No!  I  am  not  afraid!     I  am  happy!" 

He  looked  at  me,  wondering.  Well  he 
might ! 

"How  your  eyes  are  gleaming,  love !  After 
all,  I  don't  think  that  we  need  a  lantern !" 

"A  lantern !  What  use  would  it  have  been 
to  us?" 

"To  warn  anything  off  from  running  us 
down.  If  the  sail  holds  till  morning,  and  I 
think  it  will,  we  shall  be  all  right  if  we  escape 
collisions." 

"Is  that  what  you  are  fearing?"  I  asked. 

"Yes.  I  fancy  that  we  must  be  getting  in 
the  track  of  the  coal  steamers.  If  only  the 
moon  would  rise !  This  darkness  is  our  great- 
est danger!  Even  if  they  had  a  smart  look- 
out man,  I  am  afraid  that  they  would  never 


see  us." 


He  turned  round  again,  and  remained  gaz- 
ing with  fixed  eyes  into  the  darkness.  Then  I 
held  my  breath,  and  stooping  forward,  with 


288          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

the  penknife  in  my  hand,  commenced  steadily 
sawing  at  the  bottom  knot  which  bound  the 
sail  to  the  mast.  Directly  it  parted  I  cut  a 
great  slit  in  the  sail  itself. 

The  knife  was  sharp,  and  my  task  was  over 
in  less  than  a  minute.  I  dropped  it  into  the 
sea,  and  leaned  back  breathless.  The  wind 
was  coming. 

"Lumley !"  I  faltered,  "will  you  come  to  me  ? 
I  am  afraid !" 

He  turned  round  with  a  quick  loving  word. 
At  that  moment  the  catastrophe  happened.  A 
sudden  gust  of  wind  filled  out  the  sail.  There 
was  a  crash  as  it  parted  from  the  mast,  a  con- 
fused mass  of  canvass  and  limp  rope.  The 
whole  of  the  strain  for  a  moment  was  upon  the 
topmost  portion  of  the  mast,  and  the  result 
was  inevitable.  It  snapped  short,  and  the 
whole  tangled  heap  fell  down,  half  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  boat,  half  in  the  sea. 

We  heeled  right  over,  and  it  seemed  as  if  we 
must  be  capsized.  But  my  lover  had  presence 
of  mind,  and  a  strong  desire  to  live.  He  leaned 
heavily  on  the  other  side  of  the  boat,  and  whip- 
ping a  large  sailor's  knife  from  his  pocket,  cut 
away  the  whole  of  the  wreckage  from  the 
stump  of  the  mast  with  a  few  lightning-like 
strokes.  It  fell  away  overboard  at  once,  and 
though  we  shipped  a  lot  of  water,  the  boat 


TO   WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT  289 

righted  itself  again.  While  it  was  yet  trem- 
bling with  the  shock  he  leaned  across  to  me, 
pale,  but  with  no  fear  in  his  set  face  or  his 
clear,  resolute  tone. 

"Courage,  Margharita!  The  oars!  Quick, 
dear!" 

Then  for  the  first  time  my  heart  smote  me 
for  what  I  had  done ;  for  the  passionate  desire 
of  life  was  alight  in  his  eyes.  What  right  had 
I  to  make  him  share  my  fate?  My  deep  joy 
was  suddenly  numbed.  I  was  a  murderess ! 

I  handed  him  the  remaining  one,  and  pre- 
tended to  feel  about  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
In  that  moment  I  recovered  myself. 

"There  is  only  one  here,"  I  announced 
calmly. 

"Impossible !"  he  cried.  "I  saw  the  pair  laid 
out  myself." 

He  dropped  on  his  knee  and  felt  anxiously 
around.  Then  he  struck  a  match;  with  the 
same  result.  The  oar  was  gone. 

He  knew  then  that  my  words  were  true,  and 
he  came  over  to  my  side  with  a  great  despair 
in  his  dark  eyes. 

"Margharita!"  he  cried,  taking  me  into  his 
arms,  "there  is  death  before  us,  and  it  is  I  who 
have  brought  it  upon  you.  Oh,  my  love,  my 
love!" 

His  kisses  fell  upon  my  lips,  and  my  head 


290    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

fell  upon  his  shoulder.  Then  I  drew  a  sigh  of 
deep  content,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  done  well. 

"I  do  not  mind/'  I  whispered  softly.  "Let 
us  stay  like  this.  I  am  happy." 

"My  darling !" 


CHAPTER   XXX 

THE   DAWN   OF  A    NEW   LIFE 

To  desire  death  is  to  live,  and  to  desire  life  is 
to  die.  It  is  the  mockery  of  human  existence, 
the  experience  of  all.  I  had  willed  to  die  at 
that  moment,  without  further  speech  or  oppor- 
tunity for  thought,  and  death  seemed  to  have 
turned  his  back  upon  me. 

We  drifted  on,  tossed  high  and  low  by  the 
tall  waves  which  rose  around  us  like  black 
shadows,  threatening  destruction  at  every 
moment.  Often  when  we  had  seen  one  tower- 
ing above  us  we  had  thought  that  the  end  had 
come,  and  I  had  felt  my  lover's  arms  tighten 
around  me,  and  my  lips  had  clung  close  to  his. 
But  again  and  again  a  reprieve  was  granted 
to  us.  Although  every  timber  in  our  frail 
craft  shivered,  we  survived  the  shock  and 
drifted  into  smoother  water. 

A  little  before  midnight  the  wind  dropped, 
although  there  was  a  heavy  sea  still  running. 
Through  a  dimly  woven  mist  we  could  see  the 
stars  faintly  shining  between  the  masses  of 

black  clouds  rolling  across  the  wind-swept  sky. 

291 


292          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

But  there  was  no  moon;  nothing  to  show  us 
whither  we  were  drifting  upon  the  waste  of 
waters.  There  was  something  inexpressibly 
weird  in  that  darkness.  It  seemed  less  a  blank 
darkness  than  a  darkness  of  moving  shapes 
and  figures — a  living  darkness,  somehow  sug- 
gesting death.  It  will  live  in  my  memory  for- 
ever. 

"Do  you  mind  dying,  Lumley  ?"  I  asked  him 
once. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  solemnly,  "I  do.  I  am 
just  learning  how  sweet  it  would  be  to  live." 

I  held  him  tighter,  for  at  that  moment  a 
great  wave  had  broken  over  us.  I  dreaded 
nothing  but  separation. 

"Supposing  that,  if  we  lived,  something 
came  between  us?"  I  whispered.  "Suppose 
there  was  something  between  us  which  noth- 
ing could  alter,  nothing  could  move — what 
then?" 

"I  cannot  suppose  it,"  he  answered.  "Noth- 
ing could  come  between  us  that  I  would  not 
overcome — nothing  in  life." 

"Still,  if  it  were  so?"  I  persisted. 

"Then  I  would  sooner  die  like  this  if  we  are 
to  die.  We  are  in  God's  hands." 

I  shuddered  at  that  last  sentence.  If  indeed 
we  were  on  the  threshold  of  eternity,  what  had 
I  to  hope  from  God?  Alas!  at  that  moment 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          293 

my  earthly  love  was  so  strong  that  the  fear  of 
death  was  weak  and  faint. 

We  sat  there  silent  and  full  of  strange 
emotions,  and  expecting  every  moment  the  end 
to  come.  All  of  a  sudden,  we  both  of  us  gave 
a  great  cry,  and  my  lover  leaped  up  so  that 
our  boat  rocked  violently  and  nearly  capsized. 
For  my  part,  I  sat  still,  gazing,  with  distended 
eyes  and  parted  lips,  upon  the  strangest  sight 
which  I  had  ever  seen. 

A  great  blaze  of  brilliant  light  seemed  sud- 
denly to  flash  into  the  horizon,  and  falling  into 
one  long  level  ray,  to  travel  slowly  across  the 
surface  of  the  water  toward  us.  Everything 
which  lay  in  its  path  was  revealed  to  us  with 
minute  and  wonderful  distinctness.  So  vivid 
was  the  illumination  that  we  could  see  the 
white  foam  on  the  top  of  the  green  waves,  and 
the  floating  seaweed  rising  and  falling.  Out- 
side that  one  level  blaze,  more  brilliant  even 
than  the  sunlight,  the  darkness  seemed  blacker 
and  more  impenetrable  than  ever.  It  was  a 
sight  so  marvelous  that  I  held  my  breath,  awed 
and  wondering.  Then  my  lover  gave  a  great 
cry. 

"Margharita,  my  love,  my  love,  we  are 
saved!" 

"What  is  it?"  I  whispered. 

"The  electric  search  light.     I  had  it  fitted  to 


294          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

the  Stormy  Petrel  by  the  purest  chance  a  few 
months  ago.  Here  it  comes.  Put  your  hand 
before  your  eyes,  sweetheart.  Oh,  God,  that 
they  may  see  us !" 

Swiftly  it  passed  across  the  great  desert  of 
waters,  and  reached  us.  We  seemed  suddenly 
bathed  in  a  blinding  glare  of  white  light,  and, 
notwithstanding  our  anxiety,  were  forced  to 
cover  our  eyes.  There  was  a  moment's  sus- 
pense. Then  the  sound  of  a  cannon  came 
booming  across  the  sea,  and  a  rocket  sped  up 
into  the  air. 

"Thank  God!  thank  God!"  my  lover  cried, 
"they  have  seen  us.  Look  up,  Margharita! 
They  are  more  than  a  mile  away  now,  but  they 
will  be  here  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  We  are 
saved !" 

He  was  right.  In  less  than  that  time  a  boat 
from  the  Stormy  Petrel  had  picked  us  up,  and 
we  were  standing  in  for  land,  firing  rockets  all 
the  way  to  announce  the  news  to  Lord  and 
Lady  St.  Maurice.  So  ended  this,  the  most 
eventful  day  of  my  life. 

And  with  its  close  has  ended  that  sworn 
purpose  which  has  brought  me  here.  I, 
Margharita  di  Marioni,  as  one  day  I  had  hoped 
to  call  myself,  am  about  to  disgrace  the  tra- 
ditions and  honor  of  my  race.  I  am  going  to 
break  my  faith  with  a  suffering  old  man.  I 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE   HE   SOUGHT  295 

am  going  to  tell  my  uncle  that  my  hand  can 
work  no  harm  upon  any  of  this  family. 

Before  me  here  lies  his  answer  to  my  letter 
— my  confession  to  him.  How  he  trusts  me, 
when  even  now  he  never  doubts. 

"MARGHARITA, — I  have  received  your  letter, 
and  I  have  pondered  over  it.  You  are  young 
to  have  such  a  sorrow,  yet  I  do  not  doubt  but 
that  you  will  act  as  becomes  your  race.  You 
can  never  think  of  marriage  with  this  man; 
you  a  Marioni,  he  a  St.  Maurice !  Yet  I  grieve 
that  you  have  let  such  a  feeling  steal  into  your 
heart.  Pluck  it  out,  Margharita,  I  charge 
you ;  pluck  it  out  by  the  roots !  Think  not  of 
the  wrong  done  to  me,  or,  if  you  do,  think  of 
me  not  as  a  man  and  your  uncle,  but  as  Count 
Leonardo  di  Marioni,  the  head  of  my  family, 
the  head  of  your  family.  We  have  been  the 
victims,  but  the  day  of  our  vengeance  is  at 
hand.  There  is  no  life  without  its  sorrows, 
child!  In  the  days  to  come,  happiness  will 
teach  you  to  forget  this  one. 

"Farewell,  my  child.  I  shall  send  you  no 
more  notes.  Write  or  come  to  me  the  moment 
the  deed  is  done!  Come  to  me,  if  you  can;  I 
would  hear  your  own  lips  tell  me  the  news. 
Yet  do  as  seems  best  to  you.  In  sympathy 
and  love,  L.  DI  M. 


296          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

"One  word  more,  child.  Do  not  for  a  mo- 
ment imagine  that  I  blame  you  for  what  has 
happened.  Old  man  though  I  am,  I  too  know 
something  of  the  marvels  and  the  vagaries  of 
this  same  love.  Will  can  have  little  to  do  with 
its  course.  I,  who  have  suffered  so  deeply, 
Margharita,  can  and  do  sympathize  and  feel 
for  you." 

This  is  the  letter.  I  shall  seal  it  up  with 
the  others,  and  this  little  record  of  my  life,  on 
the  last  page  of  which  I  am  now  writing. 
When  I  leave  here  they  will  go  with  me. 

Yes,  it  is  the  dawn  of  a  new  day.  Shall  I 
ever  see  another,  I  wonder?  I  think  not! 
For  me,  no  longer  will  the  sun  rise  and  set, 
the  breezes  blow,  and  the  earth  be  fair  and 
sweet.  All  these  things  might  have  been  so 
much  to  me,  for  I  have  held  in  my  hand  the 
key  to  an  everlasting  happiness — that  deathless 
love  which  opens  the  gates  to  heaven;  which 
sanctifies  life  and  hallows  death.  Oh !  forgive 
me  that  I  leave  you,  my  love!  There  was  no 
other  way.  Only  I  pray  that  in  that  other 
world  we  may  meet  again  in  the  days  to  come, 
and  that  the  music  of  our  love  may  ring  once 
more  through  heart  and  soul.  Farewell! 
Farewell ! 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

AN   OLD    MAN'S    HATE 

"MARGHARITA  !  You  have  come  at  last.  It 
is  done,  then.  Say  that  it  is  done !" 

She  stood  quite  still  in  the  humble  red-tiled 
sitting-room,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  great 
compassion  shining  out  of  her  dark,  clear  eyes. 
He  was  worn  almost  to  a  shadow,  and  his 
limbs  were  shaking  with  weakness,  as  he  half 
rose  to  greet  her.  Only  his  eyes  were  still 
alight  and  burning.  Save  for  them  he  might 
have  been  a  corpse. 

Something  of  the  old  passionate  pity  swept 
through  her  as  she  stood  there,  but  its  fierce- 
ness had  died  away.  Her  heart  leaped  no 
longer  in  quick  response  to  the  fire  in  those 
still  undimmed  eyes.  She  had  been  a  girl 
then,  a  girl  with  all  the  fierce  untrained  nature 
of  her  mother's  race;  she  was  a  woman  now, 
a  sad-faced,  sorrowful  woman.  He  was  quick 
to  see  the  change. 

"Margharita,  my  child,  you  have  been  ill." 

Still  she  did  not  answer.     Silently  she  knelt 

down  by  the  side  of  his  armchair  and  took 

297 


298          TO   WIN   THE   LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

his  withered,  delicate  hand  in  hers.  A  great 
bowl  of  white  hyacinths  stood  on  a  table  by  the 
window,  and  the  air  was  faint  with  their 
perfume. 

"I  am  not  ill,"  she  said  gently.  "I  was 
frightened  on  my  way  here,  and  had  to  run. 
There  was  a  fire  last  night  at  the  lunatic 
asylum  at  Fritton,  and  some  of  the  mad  people 
have  escaped.  I  saw  one  of  them  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  keepers  after  him.  They 
wanted  me  to  go  back,  but  I  would  come." 

He  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  forehead, 
with  cold,  dry  lips. 

"I  knew  that  you  would  be  here  soon,"  he 
said.  "My  letters  reached  you  safely?" 

"Yes." 

She  shuddered  at  the  gathering  strength  in 
his  tone,  and  the  fierce  light  which  had  swept 
into  his  face. 

"It  is  done,  child.    Say  that  it  is  done !" 

"No." 

Something  in  her  sad  tone  and  subdued 
manner  seemed  to  strike  a  note  of  fear  in  his 
heart.  He  leaned  forward,  grasping  the  sides 
of  his  chair  with  nervous,  quivering  fingers, 
and  looked  hurriedly  into  her  face. 

"No;  you  have  had  no  chance,  then?  But 
you  will  have  soon?  Is  it  not  so?  Soon,  very 
soon?" 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          299 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck.  He 
made  no  response,  nor  did  he  thrust  her  away. 
He  remained  quite  passive. 

"It  is  not  that,  uncle.  Oh,  listen  to  me.  Do 
not  thrust  me  away.  I  cannot  do  this  thing." 

He  sat  as  still  as  marble.  There  was  no 
change,  no  emotion  in  his  face.  Yet  her  heart 
sank  within  her. 

"Oh,  listen  to  me,"  she  pleaded  passionately. 
"You  do  not  know  her  as  she  is  now.  She  is 
good  and  kind — a  gentle-hearted  woman.  It 
was  so  long  ago ;  and  it  was  not  out  of  malice 
to  you,  but  to  save  the  man  she  loved.  You 
hear  me,  do  you  not?  You  are  listening. 
She  has  not  forgotten  you.  Often  she  sorrows 
for  you.  It  was  cruel — I  know  that  it  was 
cruel — but  she  was  a  woman,  and  she  loved 
him.  Let  us  steal  away  together  and  bury 
these  dark  dreams  of  the  past.  I  will  never 
leave  you ;  I  will  wait  upon  you  always ;  I  will 
be  your  slave.  Forgiveness  is  more  sweet 
than  vengeance.  Oh,  tell  me  that  it  shall  be 
so.  Why  do  you  not  speak  to  me  ?" 

He  sat  quite  still,  like  a  man  who  is  stunned 
by  some  sudden  and  unexpected  blow.  He 
seemed  dazed.  She  wondered,  even,  whether 
he  had  heard  her. 

"Uncle,  shall  it  not  be  so?"  she  whispered. 
"Let  us  go  away  from  here  and  leave  her.  I 


300          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

am  not  thinking  about  him.  I  will  not  see  him 
again.  I  will  never  dream  of  marrying  him. 
Let  us  go  this  very  day,  this  very  hour !" 

Then  he  turned  slowly  toward  her,  thrust 
her  hand  from  around  his  neck,  and  stood  up. 

"You  have  been  false  to  me,  Margharita," 
he  said,  in  a  slow,  quiet  tone.  "After  all,  it  is 
only  natural.  When  you  first  came  to  me,  I 
thought  I  saw  your  mother's  spirit  blazing  in 
your  dark  eyes,  and  I  trusted  you.  I  was  to 
blame.  I  forgot  the  tradesman's  blood.  I  do 
not  curse  you.  You  do  not  understand,  that 
is  all.  Learn  now  that  the  oath  of  a  Marioni 
is  as  deathless  and  unchangeable  as  the  hills 
of  his  native  land.  Will  you  go  away  at 
once,  please?  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you 
again." 

His  speech  so  quiet,  so  self-contained,  be- 
wildered her.  There  was  not  a  single  trace  of 
passion  or  bitterness  in  it.  She  stretched  out 
her  hands  toward  him,  but  she  felt  chilled. 

"Uncle,  you " 

"Will  you  go  away,  please?"  he  interrupted 
coldly. 

She  turned  toward  the  door,  weeping.  She 
had  not  meant  to  go  far — only  out  on  to  the 
garden-seat,  where  she  might  sit  and  think. 
But  he  saw  another  purpose  in  her  departure, 
and  a  sudden  passion  fired  him.  She  heard 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          301 

his  step  as  he  rose  hastily,  and  she  felt  his  cold 
fingers  upon  her  wrist. 

"You  would  go  to  warn  her !"  he  cried,  his 
voice  trembling  with  anger ;  "I  read  it  in  your 
face.  You  are  as  false  as  sin,  but  you  shall 
not  rob  me  of  the  crown  of  my  life !  No  one 
shall  rob  me  of  it !  Vengeance  belongs  to  me, 
and  by  this  symbol  of  my  oath  I  will  have  it !" 

He  snatched  a  handful  of  white  blossoms 
from  the  bowl,  and  crushed  them  in  his  fingers. 
Then  he  threw  them  upon  the  ground  and 
trampled  upon  them. 

"Thus  did  she  betray  the  sacred  bonds  of 
our  Order  when,  for  her  lover's  sake,  she  added 
treachery  to  cunning,  and  wrecked  my  life, 
made  Leonardo,  Count  of  the  Marionis,  the 
lonely  inmate  of  prison  walls,  the  scorn  and 
pity  of  all  men.  Thus  did  she  write  her  own 
fate  upon  a  far  future  page  of  the  tablets  of 
time.  Talk  to  me  not  of  forgiveness  or  mercy, 
girl!  My  hate  lives  in  me  as  the  breath 
of  my  body,  and  with  my  body  alone  will 
it  die!" 

His  withered  figure  seemed  to  have  gathered 
strength  and  dignity,  and  his  appearance  and 
tone,  as  he  gazed  scornfully  down  at  the  girl 
at  his  feet,  was  full  of  a  strange  dramatic  force. 
Her  heart  sank  as  she  listened  to  him.  This 
was  no  idle,  vulgar  passion,  no  morbid  craving 


302          TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT 

for  evil,  which  animated  him.  It  was  a  pur- 
pose which  had  become  hallowed  to  him ;  some- 
thing which  he  had  come  to  look  upon  as  his 
sacred  right.  She  understood  how  her  draw- 
ing back  must  seem  to  him.  As  though  a 
flash  of  light  had  laid  bare  his  mind,  she  saw 
how  weak,  how  pitifully  weak,  any  words  of 
hers  must  sound,  so  she  was  silent. 

He  had  commenced  walking  up  and  down 
the  room;  and,  watching  him  fearfully,  she 
saw  that  his  manner  was  gradually  changing. 
The  unnatural  calm  into  which  he  had  mo- 
mentarily relapsed  was  leaving  him,  and  he 
was  becoming  every  moment  more  and  more 
excited.  Fire  flashed  in  his  eyes,  and  he  was 
muttering  broken  words  and  sentences  to  him- 
self. Once  he  raised  his  clasped  hands  to  the 
roof  in  a  threatening  gesture,  and  in  the  act  of 
doing  so  she  saw  the  blue  flash  of  a  stiletto  in 
his  breast  pocket.  It  frightened  her,  and  she 
moved  toward  the  door. 

It  seemed  almost  as  though  he  read  her  pur- 
pose in  her  terror-stricken  face,  and  it  mad- 
dened him.  He  caught  her  by  the  wrist  and 
thrust  her  back. 

"You  shall  not  leave  this  room,  girl!"  he 
cried.  "Wait,  and  soon  I  will  bring  you 
news !" 

She  stood,   still   panting,   overcome   for   a 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE   HE   SOUGHT  303 

moment  by  the  strength  of  his  grip.  Before 
she  could  recover  herself,  he  had  caught  up 
his  hat  and  was  gone.  Outside,  she  heard  the 
sound  of  a  key  in  the  lock.  She  was  a 
prisoner ! 

Her  first  thought  was  the  window.  AlaS !  it 
was  too  small  even  for  her  to  get  her  head 
through.  She  cried  out.  No  one  answered; 
there  was  no  one  to  answer.  She  was  alone  in 
the  cottage,  and  helpless,  and  away  over  the 
cliffs,  toward  Mallory  Grange,  she  could  see  a 
small,  dark  figure  walking  steadily  along,  with 
bent  head  and  swift  steps.  The  cottage  stood 
by  itself,  a  mile  from  the  village,  and  was  ap- 
proached only  by  a  cliff  path.  She  turned 
away  from  the  window  in  despair.  It  seemed 
to  her  then  that  the  time  for  her  final  sacrifice 
had  indeed  come. 

It  was  a  warm,  drowsy  morning,  and  the  air 
which  floated  in  through  the  open  lattice  win- 
dow was  heavy  with  the  perfume  of  flowers, 
mingled  with  the  faint  ozone  of  the  sea.  Out- 
side, the  placid  silence  was  broken  only  by  the 
murmurous  buzzing  of  insects  and  the  soft 
lapping  of  the  tide  upon  the  shingly  sands. 
Within  the  room,  a  pale-faced  girl  knelt  upon 
the  floor,  with  her  long,  slim  fingers  stretched 
upward,  and  the  passionate  despair  of  death 
in  her  cold,  white  features.  The  sunshine 


304          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

laughed  upon  her  hair,  and  glanced  around  her, 
bathing  her  beautiful  face  in  its  fresh,  bright 
glory.  Was  it  an  answer  to  her  prayer,  she 
wondered — her  prayer  for  peace  and  for- 
giveness ?  Oh,  that  it  might  be  so !  God 
grant  it ! 

There  was  no  fear  in  her  face,  though  only  a 
moment  before  she  had  taken  out  and  swal- 
lowed the  contents  of  that  little  packet  of  poi- 
son which  had  burned  in  her  bosom  for  those 
last  few  days.  But  there  had  been  just  one 
passing  shade  of  bitterness.  Her  life  had  been 
so  short,  so  joyless,  until  there  had  come  to  her 
that  brief  taste  of  wonderful,  amazing  happi- 
ness. She  was  young  to  die — to  die  with  the 
delirium  of  that  passionate  joy  still  burning  in 
her  veins. 

"Yet,  after  all,  it  is  best!"  she  whispered 
softly,  at  the  end  of  that  unspoken  prayer ;  and 
with  those  words  of  calm  resignation,  a  change 
crept  softly  in  upon  her  face.  It  seemed  al- 
most as  though,  while  yet  on  earth,  there  had 
come  to  her  a  touch  of  that  exquisite  spiritual 
beauty  which  follows  only  upon  the  extinction 
of  all  earthly  passion,  and  the  uplifting  into  a 
purer,  sweeter  life.  And  her  eyes  closed  upon 
the  sunlight,  and  darkness  stole  in  upon  her 
senses.  She  lay  quite  still  upon  the  floor;  but 
the  smile  still  lingered  upon  her  lips,  making 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          305 

her  face  more  lovely  even  in  its  cold  repose 
than  when  the  glow  of  youth  and  life  had  shone 
in  her  dark,  clear  eyes,  and  lent  expression  to 
her  features.  Saints  like  St.  Francis  of  Assisi 
may  die  thus,  but  seldom  women. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE   KEEPING   OF   THE   OATH 

"HELP!     For  God's  sake,  help!" 

A  woman's  cry  of  agony  rang  out  upon  the 
sweet  morning  stillness.  Count  Marioni,  who 
had  been  hurrying  on  with  downcast  head, 
stood  still  in  the  cliff  path  and  lifted  his  head. 
It  was  the  woman  whose  memory  he  had 
cursed  who  stood  before  him — the  woman  on 
whom  his  vengeance  was  to  fall. 

Her  face  was  as  white  as  his  own,  and  in  the 
swiftness  of  her  flight  her  hat  had  fallen  away 
and  her  hair  was  streaming  in  the  breeze.  Yet 
in  that  moment  of  her  awful  fear  she  recog- 
nized him,  and  shrank  back  trembling,  as 
though  some  unseen  hand  had  palsied  her 
tongue,  and  laid  a  cold  weight  upon  her  heart. 
They  stood  face  to  face,  breathless  and  speech- 
less. A  host  of  forgotten  sensations,  kindled 
by  her  appearance,  had  leaped  up  within  the 
Sicilian's  heart.  He  had  indeed  loved  this 
woman. 

"Merciful  God!  to  meet  you  here,"  she  fal- 
tered. "You  will  help  me  ?  Oh,  you  will  help 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE   SOUGHT          307 

me  ?  My  husband  is  being  murdered  there  on 
the  cliff  by  an  escaped  lunatic.  Oh !  Leonardo, 
save  him,  and  you  may  strike  me  dead  at  your 
feet.  It  is  I  whom  you  should  hate,  not  him. 
Oh,  come !  Come,  or  it  will  be  too  late !" 

He  stood  quite  still,  looking  at  her  curiously. 

"And  it  is  I  to  whom  you  dare  to  come  for 
help — I  whom  you  ask  to  save  him — your  hus- 
band ?  Adrienne,  do  you  remember  my  words 
on  the  sands  at  Palermo?" 

She  wrung  her  hands,  frantically  imploring. 

"How  can  I  remember  anything — think  of 
anything,  now?  For  the  love  of  God,  help 
him/'  she  begged,  seizing  his  hand.  "That 
was  all  so  long  ago.  You  would  not  have 
him  killed  here  before  my  eyes  ?  Come !  Oh, 
do  come!" 

"Lead  the  way,"  he  answered  sternly.  "Call 
your  loudest  for  other  help.  I  make  no  prom- 
ise, but  I  will  see  this  tragedy." 

She  ran  back  along  the  path,  and  he  followed 
her.  They  turned  suddenly  an  abrupt  corner, 
and  came  upon  two  men  locked  in  one  another's 
arms,  and  swaying  backward  and  forward 
upon  the  short  green  turf.  The  lunatic,  an 
immense  fellow,  more  than  six  feet  high,  was 
clutching  his  opponent's  throat  with  his  left 
hand,  while  with  his  right  he  brandished  a 
long  table-knife  with  keenly-sharpened  edge. 


308          TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

The  struggle  was  virtually  over.  The  mad- 
man's strength  was  more  than  human,  and 
desperately  though  he  had  struggled,  Lord  St. 
Maurice  was  lying  exhausted  and  overcome  in 
his  arms. 

With  a  final  effort  he  turned  his  head  at  the 
sound  of  footsteps,  and  saw  them  come — his 
wife  and  this  shrunken  little  old  man.  But 
close  at  hand  though  they  were,  nothing  could 
help  him  now.  He  saw  the  steel  flashing  in 
the  sunlight,  and  he  closed  his  eyes. 

The  knife  descended,  but  Lord  St.  Maurice 
remained  unhurt.  With  a  swiftness  which 
seemed  almost  incredible,  the  Sicilian  had 
sprung  between  them,  and  the  knife  was  quiv- 
ering in  his  side.  Behind,  the  lunatic  was 
struggling  helplessly  in  the  grasp  of  three 
keepers. 

There  was  a  wild  cry  of  horror  from  Lady 
St.  Maurice,  a  choking  gasp  of  relief  from  her 
husband,  and  a  horrid  chuckle  of  triumph  from 
the  madman  as  he  gazed  upon  his  handiwork. 
But  after  that  there  was  silence — a  deep,  awe- 
stricken  silence — the  silence  of  those  who  stand 
in  the  presence  of  death. 

Count  Marioni  lay  on  the  turf  where  he  had 
sunk,  very  white  and  very  still,  with  the  blood 
dropping  slowly  from  his  wound  upon  the 
grass,  and  his  eyes  closed.  At  first  they 


TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          309 

thought  that  he  was  already  dead;  but,  as 
though  aroused  by  Lady  St.  Maurice's  broken 
sobs,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up.  His 
lips  moved,  and  she  stooped  low  down  to  catch 
the  sound. 

"Will  you  tell  Margharita  that  this  was 
best?"  he  faltered.  "I  have  heard  a  whisper 
from  over  the  sea,  and — and  the  White  Hya- 
cinth forgives.  I  forgive.  She  will  under- 
stand." 

"Leonardo,"  she  sobbed,  "your  ven- 
geance  " 

He  interrupted  her. 

"This  is  my  vengeance!"  he  said.  "I  have 
kept  my  oath !" 

Then  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  a  gray  shade 
stole  into  his  pallid  face.  A  breeze  sprung  up 
from  the  sea,  and  the  tall,  blood-red  poppies, 
which  stood  up  all  around  him  like  a  regiment 
of  soldiers,  bent  their  quivering  heads  till  one 
or  two  of  them  actually  touched  his  cheek.  He 
did  not  move ;  he  was  dead. 

Lord  and  Lady  Lumley  had  lingered  long  in 
Rome,  and  now,  on  the  eve  of  their  departure, 
they  had  spent  nearly  the  whole  of  a  bright 
November  afternoon  buying  curios  of  a  wiz- 
ened old  dealer,  whose  shop  they  had  found  in 
one  of  the  dark  narrow  streets  at  the  back  of 


310    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

the  Piazza  Angelo.  Lady  Lumley  had  taken 
up  a  curious  old  ring,  and  was  examining  it 
with  a  vague  sense  of  familiarity. 

"Ten  pounds  for  that  ring,  my  lady,"  the 
curio  dealer  remarked,  "and  it  has  a  history. 
You  will  see  that  it  bears  the  arms  and  motto 
of  the  Marionis,  once  the  most  powerful  family 
in  Sicily.  I  had  it  from  the  late  Count  him- 
self." 

Lady  Lumley  sank  into  the  little  chair  by  the 
counter,  holding  the  ring  tightly  in  her  hand. 

"Will  you  tell  us  the  history?"  she  asked  in 
a  low  tone. 

The  man  hesitated. 

"If  I  do  so,"  he  said  doubtfully,  "will  you 
promise  to  keep  it  absolutely  secret?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,  I  have  told  it  to  no  one  yet,  but 
I  will  tell  it  to  you.  Many  years  ago  I  was  a 
chemist,  and  among  my  customers  was  Count 
Leonardo  di  Marioni.  His  history  was  a  very 
sad  one,  as  doubtless  you  may  have  heard. 
When  he  was  quite  a  young  man  he  was  ar- 
rested on  some  political  charge,  and  impris- 
oned for  five-and-twenty  years — a  cruel  time. 
Well,  scarcely  more  than  twelve  months  ago 
he  came  to  me  here,  so  altered  that  I  found  it 
hard  indeed  to  recognize  him.  Poor  old  gen- 
tleman, when  he  had  talked  for  a  while,  I 


TO  WIN   THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT          311 

felt  quite  sure  that  his  long  confinement  had 
affected  his  mind,  and  his  errand  with  me  made 
me  sure  of  it.  He  came  to  buy  a  celebrated 
poison  which  I  used  at  one  time  to  be  secretly 
noted  for,  and  I  could  tell  from  his  manner 
that  he  wanted  it  for  some  fatal  use.  Well,  I 
thought  at  first  of  refusing  it  altogether,  but 
what  was  the  use  of  that?  Some  one  else 
would  have  sold  him  an  equally  powerful  poi- 
son, and  the  mischief  would  be  done  all  the 
same.  So,  after  a  little  consideration,  I  made 
up  quite  an  innocent  powder,  which  might 
cause  a  little  momentary  faintness,  but  which 
could  do  no  further  harm,  and  I  gave  it  to 
him  as  the  real  thing.  I  couldn't  take  money 
for  doing  a  thing  like  that,  so  he  pressed 
this  ring  upon  me.  You  see,  it  really  has  a 
history." 

Lord  Lumley  took  his  wife's  hand  and 
pressed  it  tenderly.  In  the  deep  gloom  of  the 
shop  the  curio  dealer  could  not  see  the  tears 
which  glistened  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"We  will  have  the  ring!"  Lord  Lumley 
said,  taking  a  note  from  his  pocket-book  and 
handing  it  across  the  counter. 

The  man  held  it  up  to  the  light. 

"One  hundred  pounds,"  he  remarked.  "I 
shall  owe  your  lordship  ninety." 

Lord  Lumley  shook  his  head. 


312    TO  WIN  THE  LOVE  HE  SOUGHT 

"  No,  Signer  Paschuli,  you  owe  me  nothing ; 
it  is  I  who  owe  you  a  wife.  Come,  Margha- 
rita,  let  us  get  out  into  the  sunshine  again." 

And  Signer  Paschuli  kept  the  note.  But  he 
has  come  to  the  conclusion  that  all  Englishmen 
traveling  on  their  honeymoon  are  mad. 


THE  END 


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